


Harry Potter and the High Elves

by Katerinaki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Elves, F/M, Magically Powerful Harry, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Post-Goblet of Fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 72,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katerinaki/pseuds/Katerinaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sailano stood from his chair and knelt before Harry, bowing his head. "I have found you at last, Haldanár, son of Yalmëtur, grandson of the great king Carastar, and I pledge my allegiance to you as Tar-Eldatur, the High King of the Firstborn." After the events of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry's world will never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue:

Long ago there lived an elven king who ruled over the high elves of Britain, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. He was a good king and his people adored him, for he cared greatly for them and would give his very life in service to them.

The elven king had a son whom he was very proud of. He taught his son all he would need to know to be as kind and benevolent a ruler as his father. But the son did not wish to rule. He preferred the forests, to learn magic and play jokes on the guards and the servants. The king, worried that his people would suffer should he perish, tried to make the son take his responsibilities seriously. But the son was a free spirit, unwilling to be tied to the crown and duty. And so, one night, he fled.

The king was devastated. His hunters searched long and hard for his son, but the heir had vanished, well-versed in magic as he was.

Ten years later, the world was at war. The king tried to remain neutral to protect his people from the fighting, but all of his efforts seemed to be in vain. He was approached by the leader of one of the sides, who named himself a lord, though there was nothing lordly about him. He offered the king power and control, but the king saw through his lies. He refused the lord and was killed. In vengeance against the king, the lord had his followers attack the king’s people. The high elves fell from the prosperity and peace they experienced under their beloved king.

They were driven from all but their most remote settlements, forced to wander as their numbers dwindled. The high elves survive yet, but only as a shadow of what they once were. The High Council, who once advised the king, now safeguards the empty throne. The high elves watch and wait for the day the lost son will return to them and lead them into a new age of prosperity.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

_The graveyard rose out of the mists, dark and looming. A small fire danced at its heart and made grotesque shadows play across the moss-riddled tombstones. The night was cold and not even the moon shown._

_He felt hands grab him and hold him to an unyielding chest. All around him the shadows writhed, cackling at their sudden rise. At his feet, a large cauldron bubbled and boiled and thick, acrid fumes choked him. Pain lanced through his skull as drums rose up and the shadows danced with renewed vigor, poking him and taunting him. Pale, spidery hands reached out to him and grasped his chin, pulling his face up to look into two blood-red eyes. A hissing, raspy voice spoke to him._

_‘I know your mind, my enemy. I will find you and I will destroy everything.’_

_The drums pounded faster and far off a woman screamed. ‘No! Please, not my son!’_

_‘You cannot hide.’_

_There was a flash of sickly green light._

Harry woke gasping for breath with his heart pounding in his chest and his eyes rolling over his surroundings. He could still hear the drums and smell the death and decay. But slowly his mind noticed the cool white surroundings and the smell of the graveyard was overtaken by the sharp, sterile scent Harry always associated with the Hospital wing at Hogwarts. His heart slowed and his breathing eased. Instinctively he fumbled for the nightstand and found his glasses where he always left them, next to his phoenix-feather wand. Able to see now, Harry began to notice that it was no longer night time. He’d slept through the rest of the evening and into part of the day. White curtains surrounded his bed in the Hospital wing, closing him off from the rest of the space. Harry was grateful for them, though. It meant he didn’t have to face any of the other students who might come into the infirmary.

Shakily, Harry sat up in bed. He was wearing his own pajamas that had been retrieved the night before as Madam Pomfrey checked him over. The sleeve fell back revealing a white bandage over his forearm where last night Wormtail had cut him.

 _‘To bring Voldemort back,’_ Harry’s mind reminded him, as if he would be able to forget the image of the pale, snake-like man rising from the cauldron, robed in the very shadows themselves. He would always remember being restrained against the headstone of Voldemort’s own father, Tom Riddle Senior, unable to do anything as his own blood was used to bring back the darkest wizard of the age. He could never forget the pale, crumbled body of Cedric, struck down by Wormtail, nor could he forget the circle of skull-faced followers, Voldemort’s faithful Death Eaters. The images were burned into his memory and they would always be, even if by some miracle they were at last able to defeat Voldemort and kill him once and for all.

Despite how weak he felt, Harry threw his legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood, leaning heavily on his bedpost. He felt exhausted still, but there was no way he would be able to sleep again. Voldemort’s blood red eyes glared back at him every time he closed his own. With one hand on the wall, Harry trudged over to the nearest window, which still concealed him behind the partitions. He sat down on the ledge and looked out onto the grounds of Hogwarts. It didn’t seem fitting that the sun should be shining and students should be out on the lawn as they always were. Cedric Diggory was dead and Voldemort has returned. The world had changed, yet seemed to spin on like it always did. Harry’s eyes fell to Hagrid’s cabin where he could see the groundskeeper himself out with his great boarhound Fang. Fang trotted in circles around Hagrid, sniffing the ground but never going very far from his master while Hagrid methodically chopped down a large tree trunk into smaller logs for a fire.

Harry’s eyes slid away from Hagrid, down the path towards the Hogwarts gates. He couldn’t see the winged-boar gates from his window, but he could see a fair amount of the path before it wound into the trees and disappeared. Coming up the path was one of the school carriages, only this time it wasn’t pulling itself. Harry blinked a few times, but he still clearly saw two skinny, gray, horse-like shapes harnessed in front of the carriage and pulling it up the path. He couldn’t see very many details of them, but they appeared to have wings, or their backs were bulky and hunched. Harry watched the carriage come up the road towards the castle, but as it got closer it disappeared from his view, hidden from the angle of the Hospital wing. Still, he wondered who was coming to Hogwarts.

 _‘Probably the Ministry_ ,’ he thought. After all, a student was dead and Voldemort was back. If there was ever a time for the Minister of Magic to be at Hogwarts, it was now. Harry stayed in his window and continued to watch the rest of the world from his view up high. His stomach rumbled for food, but he ignored it. Eventually, though, Madam Pomfrey came to check on him and scolded him for being out of bed.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I just wanted to move around a bit.”

Madam Pomfrey, to his surprise, nodded. “It’s understandable, dear. But you’ve drained yourself, both physically and magically. You’ll need lots of rest to regain your strength.” Still, she didn’t make him go back to the bed. Rather, she brought him one of the infirmary chairs and set him up with a small tray of food by the window. It was very different from how Madam Pomfrey normally treated him when he was in the Hospital wing. Normally she was very strict about remaining in bed and taking his potions, and above all resting. As she set the tray of food down on the nightstand within his reach, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of something he’d never seen before in her eye. He thought he saw pity.

But it was gone in an instant, if it was ever there, and Madam Pomfrey left him by the window with orders to eat everything on the tray and then consume the two potions she’d measured out. Harry ate all of his food obediently and then gagged back the two potions before he relaxed into his chair and watched the Giant squid as it swam big lazy circles around the Black Lake. A small bunch of second years were tossing rocks at it and having the rocks thrown back when the doors of the Hospital wing slammed open. Professor Dumbledore’s voice accompanied the slamming doors, speaking loudly and with force Harry didn’t normally hear.

“I must insist that you return to my office.”

“You have no authority to keep him from me,” retorted a new voice. This one seemed accented, though it was not an accent Harry had heard before. For the harshness of the tone, the accent seemed melodic and flowing, like the speaker was singing his words rather than spitting them at the Headmaster.

Harry heard only one pair of footsteps approaching the partition around his bed, but they were cut off as Madam Pomfrey stormed out of her office, back to the way Harry was used to seeing her.

“Just what do you think you’re doing in my hospital, bothering my patients? Out! The both of you.”

“Poppy,” Dumbledore said in a gentle tone. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Then you will take it out of my hospital, _Albus_. Now!”

“This is of none of your concern!” said the unknown speaker.

Harry winced for the stranger.

“My patients are trying to rest and you are disturbing them! I said out, before I use force!”

In truth, the prolonged argument was probably disturbing Harry and any other patients in the Hospital wing more than the initial entrance. He rose from his chair and shuffled to the edge of the curtain, slowly leaning around so that he could see all the commotion.

Madam Pomfrey stood toe to toe with a rather tall man with long brown hair who towered over her and glared down at her. To her credit, the nurse didn’t seem intimidated at all, though even Harry could feel the power and authority radiating off this particular individual. He must’ve been some sort of politician or leader. He wore a long tunic with a golden sash and trousers, over which he wore a burgundy greatcoat, decorated with golden spirals and knots. The intricacy of the knots and the quality of the fabric he wore made Harry think that he was fairly well off, though perhaps not as well-to-do as the Malfoys. But he was not a wizard, or at least not a wholly human one. His features were smooth and beautiful, despite the fact that he was male. His hair parted around the tips of his ears, which tapered to points.

Harry felt drawn to him. Regardless of the rather abrupt and poor first impression, Harry couldn’t help but feel like he should trust the man. Not to mention he swore he knew him from somewhere, even though he couldn’t remember seeing him before in his life. Surely someone so impressive would be memorable. Harry stepped out from behind the curtain a bit more and the little bit of movement was like a beacon for the stranger. He abruptly spotted Harry and then his gray eyes widened in astonishment. Before Harry could say anything or make any sort of move, he was across the room, on his knees before Harry with a look of pure joy and relief on his face.

“ _Melda tár! Nán alassëa. Ma alwa nát?_ _Massë nélyë_?” He spoke in a language Harry didn’t know, but again he felt that he should. Still, the words might as well have been Gobbledegook for all he understood. He could only stare at the complete stranger in front of him, wide-eyed and becoming increasingly confused.

Finally the stranger stopped and looked at Harry like he was expecting some sort of answer. But what could Harry say? He didn’t understand any of the questions.

“Who—who are you?” he asked tentatively.

Harry watched the stranger’s face fall and it was one of the most heart-wrenching sights he’s ever seen. He watched the pure joy be replaced by sadness before that too was shoved behind a wall and then Harry couldn’t see much of anything. The stranger slowly got to his feet, straightening his coat and composing himself.

“Of course,” he said, though this time Harry could understand him. “It has been so long. I should not have expected…Forgive me. My name is Sailano.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Harry replied uncertainly. “I’m Harry.”

“Yes, I know,” replied Sailano. “I have seen your face in the Daily Prophet. It helped us to find you.”

“Us?”

“My people, _your_ people. The _eldar_.”

When Harry only looked confused still, Sailano abruptly stood and turned on Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore, who had both converged on Harry when Sailano first spotted him. Now they took a step back as Sailano drew himself up again, much as he had been when he’d confronted Madam Pomfrey.

“He does not know!”

“Know what?” Harry asked.

“Please understand, Lord Sailano,” Dumbledore replied, “very few knew. It was best that Harry not be burdened further.”

“What burden is it to know who you truly are?” Sailano demanded. “What burden is it to know your own kind?”

“Harry is already under a great deal of pressure.”

Sailano and Dumbledore continued to argue, but Harry’s mind caught on Sailano’s words. “ _…to know your own kind.”_ Own kind? What did he mean by own kind? Harry was a wizard, and true he didn’t know for most of his life, but he did now. He didn’t necessarily know all about wizards, all about their history or their society, but Harry still considered himself one of them. And he was learning about magic; that’s why he was at Hogwarts. So what did Sailano mean that he didn’t know his own kind? As Harry looked at Sailano’s smooth features and tapered ears, Harry could only come to one conclusion. Sailano obviously wasn’t human and whatever he was, he’d referred to it as _eldar_. He called them his people, and Harry’s people. Sailano was under the impression that Harry was an _eldar_ , like him. But that was ridiculous.

“I’m not like you,” Harry said loudly to be heard over the argument. Dumbledore and Sailano abruptly stopped, noticing Harry again.

“I’m not like you,” he repeated. “I’m not an _eldar_ , or whatever you called it. My mom was a witch and my dad was a wizard. I don’t even look like you.”

Sailano looked triumphant. “That is easily fixed. The glamours of wizards are flimsy, it is a miracle it has held for so long.” Sailano placed his hand over Harry’s head and the power around them began to build. It pressed in on Harry and he felt like he was at the bottom of the ocean. As the power grew, he knew that it would surely crush him. Just as Harry was about to collapse, something shattered. All of the power was lifted away and Harry suddenly felt freer than he’s ever felt. His glasses were cracked and as he lifted them off of his nose, he could see properly. Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey’s concerned expressions were clear to him. As Harry looked down at himself, he noticed his pajama pants were a few inches too short now. As he folded his broken glasses, his fingers seemed longer and slender. Tentatively he reached up and brushed them over his ears. They were tapered too now, just like Sailano’s.

The _eldar_ himself watched Harry with extreme satisfaction and pride. “Now you are yourself.”

 

Harry looked at himself in the mirror for what must’ve been the hundredth time as he changed from his pajamas into his school robes. Out in the infirmary, Sailano waited with the Headmaster. Harry could still hear the two of them speaking in harsh voices, though they weren’t yelling anymore.

As he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, his hand came up and brushed the tapered tip of his ear again. He still looked like himself, for the most part. But he looked like a more refined version of himself. Like Sailano, his features were a bit smoother. His eyes were still the same green, his mother’s green, but the shape was a bit more slanted at the edges. And then of course there were his ears, which he could thankfully still hide under his messy hair, and the fact that Madam Pomfrey had magically extended his robes to fit his taller form. Harry wasn’t regretful of that part. The one thing that hadn’t seemed to change about him was the curse scar on his forehead. That remained, red and irritated as it had been for much of the term. The overall effect made it seem like there was just something a bit off about him. But perhaps “off” in a good way. There was no awkwardness about him.

The whole incident hadn’t quite hit him yet. Everything from the last twenty-four hours or so was still sitting in the back of his mind, not quite real yet. This revelation was shuffled into the waiting line, right between “My would-be killer has a corporeal form” and “I may have brought a fellow student to his death”. He really didn’t feel strong enough to deal with everything and so Harry found himself in this sort of waiting place where he dreaded the moment the dam broke, but also looked forward to it, just so he could relieve the ever-growing pressure.

Eventually Harry had to leave the bathroom. He didn’t want to, but others were waiting impatiently for him. And so he stepped back out into the infirmary and was surprised to find another _eldar_ with Sailano. This one was dressed in brown almost exclusively, with a long brown leather coat and, to Harry’s surprise, a bow strapped to his back. He looked down at Harry and bowed his head respectfully. Sailano met Harry, looking him over as if somehow he could’ve been severely injured in the five minutes it had taken him to dress. When he didn’t find anything, he beckoned Harry towards the new arrival.

“Harry, this is Roimon.”

“ _Tárnya_ ,” Roimon murmured.

“He will watch out for you and keep you from harm.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” Harry replied bluntly.

Sailano merely inclined his head, but Harry could see already that Roimon was there to stay. He followed Harry, Sailano, and Dumbledore up to the Headmaster’s office. Despite the sun shining outside, or perhaps because of it, they met nobody in the corridors on their way up to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office. But when they climbed the rising staircase and entered Dumbledore’s office, Harry found a small collection of people waiting for them.

Ron and Hermione were the first to move. Hermione practically tackled Harry in a hug, but Ron was brought up short when he saw his friend. He paused, his eyes scanning over Harry’s taller form and his changed appearance. Hermione too stepped back, looking him over critically.

“Harry, you’ve grown,” she said quietly.

Harry shrugged. “A bit.”

“Since when were you taller than me? And what’s wrong with your face?”

Hermione slapped Ron in the arm, chastising him for being rude, but Harry could see her eyes darting between him, Sailano, and Roimon. He swore he could see her sharp mind connecting the points and coming to a no doubt highly accurate conclusion.

“Astute as ever, Mr. Weasley,” said Professor Snape, who stood off to the side in front of Dumbledore’s desk. Professor McGonagall was also present, likely having brought Ron and Hermione. The presence of the two professors and Harry’s closest friends confused him, but Harry couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful they were there. Hermione still smiled at him gently and Ron, for all his brusqueness, still stood at his side like he had since that very first day on the Hogwarts Express.

Dumbledore stepped around his desk and took a seat in his high-back chair. “Why don’t we all make ourselves comfortable,” he offered. With a wave of his hand, seven comfortable armchairs appeared before his desk. “We obviously have much to discuss.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione took the chairs directly in front of the Headmaster. Sailano looked his over for a moment before deeming it adequate and sitting as well. Roimon remained standing behind Harry and Professor Snape also remained on his feet, leaning against the wall with his arms folded in front of his chest.

“There, that’s much better,” Dumbledore said. “Now then, perhaps it would be best to start at the beginning, since not all of us know the entire story.”

Sailano looked at Harry as if for confirmation and when he saw the curious look on his face, he acquiesced.

“Very well. What do you know of the _eldar_?”

“Nothing,” said Harry.

“Very little,” said Hermione.

Sailano inclined his head. “The _eldar_ are a race of magical beings that trace their history long before humans. Wizards sometimes refer to us as ‘high elves’, but we call ourselves ‘ _eldar’_ , which in our language means ‘people of the stars’. We are also called ‘ _Minnónar_ ’, Firstborn.

“For many centuries, our people kept to themselves. We remained neutral in the wars of men and lived outside of their laws and governments. We were ruled by a high king, our _Tar-Eldatur_. The line of our kings was long and unbroken, until twenty-four years ago.”

Sailano looked wistfully off into space, as if he could see the times that he spoke of. A deep longing entered his voice.

“Our king was Carastar. He was a good king; he loved his people with all his heart. But his son, Yalmëtur, did not share the same love that his father did. Rather, he loved the trees and games. He left his people and although the king searched very far, he could not find him.”

Sailano shook his head in disappointment with a great sigh. “Very soon after, a war began among wizards. It was a dark, bloody war, one that our king tried to keep us away from, but it was impossible. He was approached by the man you call a dark lord, Voldemort.”

There was an assortment of gasps and Ron made an odd, strangled whimper at the use of Voldemort’s name. Harry himself was surprised to hear it used. Besides himself, only Dumbledore ever said it. Sailano took in the collective reaction, but continued on with his story.

“Voldemort offered our king a great many things. Power, freedom, land. In return, he asked for our support, but our king could see through his friendly face and his gilded words. Voldemort was particularly interested in the longevity of our race. We _eldar_ frequently live for many hundreds of years. Voldemort sought a way to do so as well. Our king saw this greed in his eyes and so he refused Voldemort’s offer of friendship. The next night, Voldemort’s Death Eaters attacked and Voldemort himself slew our great king.

“Our people were scattered, but Voldemort did not stop. His Death Eaters sought out our settlements and they did not leave survivors. It was only his defeat, by Harry Potter,” he nodded towards Harry, “that ended the bloodshed.  But our way of life was already destroyed. Our people have remained leaderless and wandering, a mere shadow of whom they once were. I and the other lords of the High Council try our best to protect them, but we are none of us _Tar-Eldatur_. We cannot sit on the throne of the _eldar_ , and so it remains empty.

“I was tasked with the search for our lost heir, Yalmëtur. I have searched for many years, but it has been in vain until only a few months ago. I found a copy of your Daily Prophet and there was the image of our slain king. King Carastar and I were young together and I knew him for many decades before he became our king. I searched long and hard and discovered the truth. Yalmëtur was taken in by an elderly wizard family who had no heir to carry on their line. They adopted him and loved him as a son and he grew up as a wizard, wearing the face of a man.

“But even far from his people, Yalmëtur fought to protect them. He gave his life for them, but not before leaving behind an heir of his own, powerful as the first kings of the _eldar_.”

Sailano stood from his chair and knelt before Harry, bowing his head. “I have found you at last, Haldanár, son of Yalmëtur, grandson of the great king Carastar, and I pledge my allegiance to you as _Tar-Eldatur_ , the High King of the Firstborn.”


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

“No.”

Sailano looked up at Harry with confusion. “No?”

Harry shook his head. “There must be some mistake. I can’t be your king.”

Sailano was on his feet again. “It’s not a mistake. You _are_ our king. I have shown you who you truly are; you can see it for yourself.”

“And if I am _Tar-Eldatur_ , like you said, then what? What do you want from me?”

As Harry stared down Sailano, everyone in the office could feel the magic around them rising. Harry’s eyes sparked with power, the green nearly glowing. To one who didn’t know Harry, he would seem curious. But Ron and Hermione knew Harry better and they could see past the seemingly innocent questions to the root of the matter.

Sailano didn’t know Harry. “You would, of course, return to your people.”

“And that is why I cannot be your king. Voldemort is back and he’s coming for me, to kill me.”

“If you are concerned about your safety, I can assure you that our warriors are well-trained and capable of—“

“It’s not _my_ safety I’m worried about! Voldemort won’t stop until I’m dead. He’ll kill anyone who gets in the way and from what you said, the _eldar_ barely survived the first war. I won’t bring Voldemort to them. It’s better if you just find a new king. If you need my permission or something, fine, I’ll give it. But I can’t be your king. I have people here that need me.”

Sailano finally seemed to understand, and he looked furious. “I have not searched for so long for you to say ‘no’! You are our king, our _only_ king. There can be no others while the line of the Eldatur survives. This is not my decision; it is the law of the _eldar_.”

“Then you won’t have to wait very long to replace me.”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped.

“It’s true, Hermione! It’s only a matter of time before he finds me again and I can only get lucky so many times.”

“Harry, mate,” said Ron, “You know we won’t let that happen. We’re with you all the way.”

“And I can assure you, Harry, _I_ will not allow that to happen,” Dumbledore said as well. “Nor would any in this room and many more outside of it. You are not alone.”

Harry shook his head sadly. “Cedric wasn’t alone either.”

“Harry, you aren’t Cedric,” Hermione said firmly.

“It could have just as easily been me.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“As _touching_ as this little moment is,” Snape interrupted, “I don’t believe the matter was resolved.”

All eyes fell back to Sailano, who seemed to be doing his best to control his frustration. It was a few moments before he spoke again, his voice once more calm, but assured.

“I told you of our recent history for a purpose. Our people are dying. The _eldar_ live in scattered camps, never remaining in one place. We have had very few children in the recent years. Our way of life fades. Voldemort took more than our king, the night he attacked our people. He took our future from us. We are lost, and the Council lords and I can only do so much. The Council is divided and so the people are as well. They need a leader who can unite them otherwise they will slowly fade from existence. They need their _Eldatur_. They need to see that there is still hope.”

The struggle was clear in Harry’s eyes as he listened to Sailano. Hermione referred to it as a “saving people” thing, but in truth, it was a “Harry” thing. He couldn’t stand to see others suffer, especially for something he did, or might have done, or thought he did. This “Harry” thing tore at him, making him want to help Sailano and the _eldar_ , but also kept him rooted here where his friends remained, where he had found a home that he’d never had. Harry could easier cut off his wand arm than abandon Hogwarts and those who loved and cared for him.

In the end, Harry still shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sailano, I can’t.”

Sailano tried to insist, but Harry stopped him.

“Wait, just hear me out. I can’t be your _Tar-Eldatur_ , not because I’m scared of the responsibility or anything like that. I just—I know nothing about the _eldar_ , who they are, what their customs and histories are. I couldn’t lead them. But I can see that your dedication to them is unwavering. You saw them through the loss of their king and you’ve gone through a lot to find me. They deserve someone like you, to lead them. I’m just a teenager who didn’t even know he was an _eldar_ until today.”

The office was held suspended for a moment, until Snape broke the spell with his usual sarcastic drawl that always wormed under Harry’s skin.

“A fine speech, Potter,” Snape said. “But as per usual, you have ignored a crucial detail. While a member of the _Tar-Eldatur_ line lives, no one else _can_ lead. It doesn’t matter who may be _right_ for the job, it’s a matter of who has the authority to do it. As _unfortunate_ as it is, that is you and only you so long as you survive.”

Sailano seemed to finally catch up and he agreed. “Yes. The High Council can attend to daily matters, but they cannot overstep their boundaries, as laid down by the laws of the _eldar_. We cannot, any one of us, become king, nor have the authority of the king. That right is reserved for you and your ancestors and descendants.”

Harry’s heart sunk impossibly deeper. Was it possible for him to experience _more?_ More challenges, more heartbreak, and so soon after the last? How could a law be written so absolutely? _Why_ would it be?

“Harry?” Hermione’s soft voice broke through the jumble of thoughts and emotions in his head. She seemed tentative and for once, uncertain. But then who wasn’t uncertain? Harry doubted even Dumbledore saw this coming, as clairvoyant and ubiquitous as he seemed.

“Harry, you need to go with Lord Sailano.”

Hermione’s words struck him harder than anything Sailano had said, or any of the snide comments made by Snape. He trusted Hermione’s judgment, more than just about anyone. Perhaps even more than Dumbledore.

“I can’t leave you guys,” he insisted. “Voldemort—“

“Won’t stop, I know. But maybe this will give you time. The _eldar_ are strong and very good at hiding. And right now, they need you more than us. They could _die_ Harry.”

He didn’t want that, but how could he leave his friends? “Come with me,” he choked out. “You and Ron are my best friends and I can’t do something like this without you.”

“Unfortunately, seeing as neither Miss Granger nor Mr. Weasley are _eldar_ that would be quite impossible. They wouldn’t survive the journey through the wards, much less an extended stay inside them.”

Harry’s temper was already on edge at the thought of being force to leave behind his home and his friends, and quite frankly he was sick and tired of Snape’s snide remarks. He turned on his Potion’s professor with his green eyes blazing and the magic around him sizzling with energy. The others shrunk back from him, but Snape, to his credit, stood his ground.

“How do _you_ know so much about it?” he snarled.

Snape sneered down his nose at Harry. “I am _well read_ , Mr. Potter. Any—“

“No! _Ilanwa!_ ” Harry declared, not even certain where the word came from but not caring at this point. “Hermione’s well-read and _she_ didn’t know as much as you do. You’re lying, I can tell.”

“ _Naitë olos_ ,” Sailano murmured. “None could lie in the presence of the _Tar-Eldatur_.” The _eldar_ stepped across the room to stand very close to Snape, who had pushed himself from the wall and stood with his wand at the tip of his fingers, ready for a confrontation. But Sailano only stared into Snape’s face like he could see the truth behind it all. And perhaps he could.

“Turmo.”

For once, Snape seemed surprised. But it was only a moment before the usual scowl returned.

“No,” he growled, “he is dead.”

“ _Ánin apsenë_. He was a dedicated hunter.”

“He was a drunken bastard,” Snape retorted.

“But you continue his mission.”

“Not by choice.”

Harry and the others, with the possible exception of Roimon, were confused. Dumbledore spoke this time, his usual light bearing gone. The Headmaster had thus far been observing for the most part, but it seemed when a member of his staff was keeping secrets, even from him, he had little choice but to step in.

“Severus, would you care to explain?”

“No, Headmaster, I wouldn’t. It was long ago and has little bearing on the current situation.”

Dumbledore seemed saddened by Snape’s reply. “Regretfully, I must disagree. I hope you will trust me, Severus.”

Harry knew the power of the Headmaster. He’d sat across from those blue eyes before and been prompted to spill his guts. That Snape had apparently been hiding something for so long was impressive, and nearly impossible.

Snape scowled, seeing the manipulation for what it was but knowing that if he didn’t reveal all, Dumbledore would not stop until he did. That was the Headmaster. With a great sigh, as if it were the greatest effort, Snape reached up and passed his hand over his face. As he did, Harry watched the sharp edges of Snape’s face smooth and he didn’t even have to wait for an explanation.

“You’re an elf too!” Ron shouted.

Snape glared at him and the familiar expression only verified to Harry that he was indeed the same Potions professor who’d made their lives miserable for the last four years.

“The term is _eldar_. ‘Elf’ is a vile name for lesser creatures, branded upon us by wizards who saw the shape of our ears and thought they knew us. I am as much an ‘elf’ as you, Mr. _Weasley_ , are the vermin by which you take your name.”

Ron protested, though he seemed confused in whether or not Snape had insulted him.

“Fine, you’re an _eldar_ ,” Harry retorted. “Why did you hide it? Did you know about me?”

“My reasons are my own, and as I have said before they are irrelevant now.” With another swipe of his hand, Snape was back to the same dour Potions master as he’d always been. But now Harry could see the _eldar_ features beneath the hooked nose, sallow skin, and crooked yellow teeth. It was like an image was overlaid and didn’t quite line up perfectly.

“I am deeply saddened that you did not trust me with such information before, Severus,” Dumbledore sad at last.

“Will you come with us?” Sailano asked. “Your service will be lauded.”

“I don’t want to be commended and my service is only beginning. The Dark Lord has returned. I will be of more use here than trapped in a stronghold somewhere.”

“Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “Perhaps you can still be of service to your people” He turned to Sailano. “As Severus has pointed out, wizards cannot pass through the wards around your cities. If ever I have need to communicate with you or Mr. Potter—excuse me, the _Tar-Eldatur_ , it will come by Severus.”

Sailano nodded his agreement, but he did not seem pleased. “That is reasonable, Headmaster. But let me remind you that the Eldar do not answer to the Ministry of Magic, or to any wizard. We stand apart, as we have since the beginning. We will continue to.”

“Of course, I understand,” Dumbledore replied diplomatically. “I would expect nothing less.”

Sailano turned his attention to the windows. “The day wanes. It would be best to leave soon. The gates of the city are barred after dusk.”

Everyone in the office looked to Harry. Part of Harry was used to the attention; after all he’d been stared at and whispered about since his very first day in Diagon Alley with Hagrid. But there was still a small piece of Harry that remained the quiet boy who lived in a cupboard for most of his life. He fought to keep his eyes steady and appear confident, even though he was the furthest from.

“I would like to gather my things,” he told Sailano, “And say goodbye to my friends.”

Sailano was about to protest, but Dumbledore cut him off. “A reasonable request, I’m sure.”

“Everything will be provided for you. The sun is already setting and it is not an easy journey. We must leave.”

Sailano stood and he and Roimon began to close in on Harry, ushering him towards the door of the Headmaster’s office. Hermione and Ron hurried to say their goodbyes as despite Dumbledore and McGonagall’s protests, Sailano continued to insist that they must leave.

“Write to us,” Hermione whispered into his ear, squeezing him like if she held on then maybe Harry wouldn’t have to go.

“I will,” Harry promised.

“Be safe, alright mate?” Ron thumped him awkwardly on the back as Hermione wouldn’t let him go.

“You too.”

“We’ll keep you updated as much as we can,” Hermione promised.

“If anything happens—“

“We’ll be okay.” Hermione finally released Harry and no sooner that she did was Roimon there, sweeping Harry down the stairs. He didn’t hurt Harry, but more than once he placed a hand on the small of his back, nudging him forward. Sailano was leading the way, navigating the castle like he too had gone to school there. As they swept through the corridors, students stopped to stare. If they recognized him or not, Harry wasn’t able to tell. They were moving too fast and soon they were out the front door and Roimon was holding open the carriage door for him.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, as he climbed into the carriage, eyeing the terrifying horse-like creatures that were pulling it.

“Métimalondë,” Sailano replied. “The last haven for our people.”

 

Fog shrouded everything as it had for hours now. Or at least, it had seemed like hours to Harry. After leaving Hogwarts grounds, Sailano and Roimon had taken Harry to a nearby lake where a boat awaited them. This boat was nothing like the great ship that the Durmstrang students had arrived on, rising from the depths of the Black Lake with massive sails. This boat was sleek and low to the water with only a single, triangular sail. It was made from a light wood that glowed orange in the low afternoon sun. Roimon helped Harry step into the boat and take a seat before he moved to the stern. They’d cast off, but no sooner were they out in the middle of the lake had the fog rolled in and remained heavy over the water so that the shore on all sides was obscured. Roimon held steady on the rudder, but Harry didn’t know how he could be steering them anywhere. It was impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them, and every gentle lapping wave against the boat was the same as the hundreds before it.

“Can you feel it?”

Harry jumped at Sailano’s sudden question. They had remained silent for most of the voyage.

“Feel what?” he asked, confused. All he felt was damp from the fog and a bit cold as the sun descended and the temperature dropped.

“Close your eyes. Open your senses.”

Harry did. He didn’t understand what Sailano was talking about, but as he took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on what was going on around him, a presence slowly appeared in the distance. It was a calm, lingering sort of magic that had stood the test of time and remained strong and relatively unchanging. It pulsed steadily like a heartbeat and Harry’s own heart seemed to pick up the beat echoing the promise of peace and security.

“Only an _eldar_ can find Métimalondë. A human would feel overwhelming fear and would have turned back by now.”

“What if they didn’t?” Harry asked quietly. His senses were testing the magic now, poking and prodding like a little boy with a dead bug.

“Then they would die,” Sailano replied simply. “Humans, magical or non-magical, cannot pass through our wards. Their bodies cannot sustain them.”

Harry was quiet.

“We are almost to the gates.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“The fog conceals it. There is no need to see when you _know_.”

And at once the fog lifted and Harry gasped.

A great wall rose up before them, protecting the mouth of a lake as it nestled among tall, green mountains. The wall itself was over thirty feet tall and made from solid rock as if it had been hewn in one piece from the mountain and placed on the lake by some ancient giant. The wall was only the physical manifestation of Métimalondë’s protections. Harry had never been as aware of magical wards as he was in that moment. He knew that Hogwarts was protected, but he didn’t really feel it when he was in the castle. But these wards were different. They were not visible, but they were present and thick as the walls they protected. Harry doubted even an army of Dumbledores could break down this ward.

The fog still lingered over everything, but just ahead Harry could make out a small opening in the wall in which stood a partly-open but heavily guarded portcullis. Roimon guided their ship towards the gate and as they came closer, Harry could see guards stationed atop the wall as well, armed with bows such as the one Roimon carried on his back and wearing gleaming silver armor. Every eye was open and vigilantly scanning the water and land. When their ship was within speaking distance, the guards at the gate called out in elvish and Roimon answered back. They were allowed up to the gate and Roimon tied their boat off at the temporary mooring. Sailano stood and Harry was about to follow when he held up his hand.

“Not to worry, _Tárnya_ ,” Sailano assured him. “I will take care of this.”

He climbed from the boat and greeted the guardsman, speaking to him lowly.

“What’s he saying?” Harry asked Roimon.

“Lord Sailano is telling the guard of our mission and who you are.”

Harry knew the exact moment when Sailano introduced him. The guard’s eyes widened and he immediately hurried to Harry, bowing and murmuring “ _Tárnya_ ”, much like Roimon had.

Harry was flummoxed what to do, but words seemed to come to his tongue.

“ _Órenya linda tye-cenien_.”

He didn’t understand what he’d said and the pronunciation felt strange on his tongue, but the guard smiled broadly.

“ _Lúmë anda avánië. Amatulya._ ”

Harry had no more words to speak and so he smiled and nodded in return. The guard hurried to shout to another and the inner portcullis began to raise. Sailano climbed back into the boat as Roimon cast off. Harry felt the pressure of the wards for a moment as they passed through them, like Dudley sitting on his shoulders, but it passed as they sailed through the second portcullis and beyond the wall.

“ _Mai acáriel_ ,” Sailano murmured when they were beyond the gate. “You did well.”

“What did I say?”

“An old greeting, one of honor and respect.”

“How would I know that?” Harry wondered aloud.

“It is possible that Yalmëtur embedded memories in your mind before he died. But it is impossible to say unless one was to delve into your mind, and none but one of your line is strong enough to do so.”

“ _Tárnya_ ,” Roimon said. Harry looked up to see the guardian pointing in the distance. The sight took the breath from Harry’s lungs.

Sailano had described Métimalondë as the last truly safe place for the Eldar. Harry expected to see some small buildings, perhaps a few tents, but that was nothing like the truth. Métimalondë was a bustling port. Ships, much like the one Harry sat in, bobbed at anchor in the harbor. Beyond them and encircling the harbor like two open arms was the city itself. Beautiful, arching buildings and tall spires rose up over everything. Despite the threat, most of the city was open with many large windows and courtyards and an abundance of plants and flowers growing over the rooftops and up the walls as integral parts to the structures. When Harry had first seen Hogwarts Castle from the lake as a first year, he’d been enthralled. But now he stood before something even greater and he could only stare and wonder. If this is what Métimalondë looks like when the Eldar are weakened, what had it been like at the height of Carastar’s reign?


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Among the ships and buildings, Harry could see figures moving around, going about their daily business. Some moved with purpose while others strolled languidly in the last fading warmth of the sun. None of them paid much attention to Harry’s boat as they came closer to the docks and Harry was grateful for that. He didn’t think he would be able to handle it if every _eldar_ tried to greet him as the guard did at the gate.

“Forgive your lack of reception, _Tárnya_ ,” Sailano said. “I thought it would be best to formally introduce you after you had time to adjust.”

 _And not embarrass yourself or me_ , Harry added silently.

“Thank you,” he replied.

“Roimon and I will escort you to my home. I am sorry but your residence is not yet fit. After you have had time to rest, I will call the Council into conclave and make a formal introduction.”

Harry nodded, already feeling overwhelmed and they hadn’t even landed yet. As Roimon drew up along the dock, he tossed a rope to the dockhand and the two of them worked quickly to tie the ship off. Roimon then jumped from the boat before he offered a steady hand to Harry as he too climbed out. The dockhand looked over Harry’ school robes and made a comment to Roimon, who seemed to gruffly rebuke him.

The dockhand wasn’t the only curious one though. As Sailano and Roimon escorted Harry through the streets, it soon became clear that Sailano was a well-known public figure and the _eldar_ they passed on the streets seemed to have no problems stopping and exchanging pleasantries and a few questions. Harry watched these interactions and although he couldn’t understand what was being said, he could hear the tones well enough. Sailano conversed good-naturedly with all as if he were a good friend. It seemed different than what Harry had seen of Cornelius Fudge or other Muggle politicians. It seemed genuine.

The socialization made for slow travel, but Harry hardly minded. It gave him the opportunity to look closer at the city and he began to understand. Upon first glance, Métimalondë appeared to be full of activity and life, but walking through the streets revealed a crumbling city. Many buildings were uninhabited and blocked or closed off. It seemed that only one in every four homes was actually occupied and in many places the plants and vines had been left to grow and reclaim the homes. Everywhere Harry looked he saw decay with no repairs underway. The people he passed seemed happy enough, but their clothes were muted and they seemed thin, as if food and other supplies were scarce and so they had to make do with what they had. There were very few children about, though the few that were greeted Sailano like a favored uncle and sent side-long looks at Harry and his strange attire like he was a foreign dog they weren’t sure they should pet. One little girl had the guts to go up to Harry, though, and she tugged on his sleeve and asked something in a genuinely curious tone. Sailano shooed her away tenderly and with fondness before apologizing to Harry.

“Little Veryë is always curious.”

“It’s alright,” Harry replied, watching Veryë be ushered inside. Her eyes never left Harry with their curiosity.

Finally Sailano made it to a modest, two-story house outside of which a girl around Harry’s age was reading. She looked up as they approached and immediately rose, a great smile on her face.

“ _Atar, nae saian luume!_ ” She paused upon spotting Harry just behind Sailano. “ _Naa Tárnya ho?_ ”

Sailano turned to Harry. “ _Tárnya,_ welcome to my home. And this rude child is my daughter, Narwien.”

The young woman blushed a shade almost as fiery as her long, curly hair.

“My deepest apologies, _Tárnya_ ,” she murmured, bowing lowly and refusing to make eye contact.

“Er, it’s nice to meet you,” Harry replied, uncertain if he should bow back or offer a handshake or some other more formal reply.

“Please, after you,” Narwien gestured, moving aside so that Harry could enter the home with Sailano just behind him.

The inside was beautiful with rich, carved wooden furniture and various tapestries and paintings on the walls, mostly of natural scenes. Wide windows looked out on the city and at the very center of the house lay a small courtyard and a meticulous garden. There were not so many things in the house, but those that were there were exquisite, hand-made and likely hundreds, if not thousands, of years old.

Sailano and Narwien seemed to be watching Harry as he admired their home, waiting for his approval.

“It’s great,” he said. “I like the, er, tapestries.”

“I was able to bring some things from my home, but much was lost during the attack on our former capital, Aicassë. This home belonged to my many times great-uncle, before my family and yours agreed to work together instead of against each other.”

Narwien blushed again at the historical note that Harry didn’t understand.

“We have prepared a room for you, _Tárnya_ ,” she said softly. “If you would allow, I can lead you to it. I hope it is to your satisfaction.”

“Sure,” Harry replied.

Narwien nodded and beckoned for him to follow her down a long hallways leading towards the back of the house. The room where she eventually brought him faced into the courtyard at the center of the house and a doorway led directly out into the garden. Like the rest of the house, it was lavish without being gaudy. The large bed and wardrobe were ornately carved and in the corner was a desk that matched. There was also a trunk at the foot of the bed and through another door was a bath.

“My father had some of Tárnya Carastar’s things brought out for you. I’m sure you are tired and wish to relax. If you are hungry, the kitchens are down at the end of the hall on the left.”

“Thank you,” Harry said.

“The pleasure is mine, _Táryna_. Should you need anything more, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Narwien bowed and slipped out of the door, closing it with barely a sound. As soon as Harry was alone, let out a deep exhale and sat down heavily on the trunk at the bottom of the bed. Something inside made a clinking sound and, curious, Harry opened the lid to see what was inside. He was shocked to find it was armor and a sword. Set neatly among padded jackets and trousers was a set of silver plate armor, rimmed in gold and etched with swirling patterns. Harry could clearly make out the arms and torso sections, and beneath that were pieces for the legs and a coat of golden chainmail. But Harry’s eyes quickly fell on the sword that lay in its scabbard across the top. Tentatively, Harry reached out and his fingers brushed up the worn leather grip on the pommel to the large ruby set into the end. No sooner had his fingers touched the ruby did it flare with magical energy and Harry felt a surge of power. With a startled yelp Harry fell backwards and the lid of the trunk slammed shut, echoing in the silent house. Harry was sure that Sailano, Narwien, and Roimon had heard it, but none of them came running into the room to see that he was okay. For that, Harry was grateful.

He stood once more, but decided that he would leave the trunk shut tight for now. He hoped that he wouldn’t need to wear the armor any time soon and the sword was a whole other problem. He had used a sword only once, in the Chamber of Secrets to kill a basilisk. It had been mostly dumb luck. He didn’t know how to wield a sword and didn’t really have any plans to learn in the near future. Instead, Harry decided to check out the wardrobe, hoping that things would be much safer in there.

Hanging inside, Harry found a rather impressive collection of clothing. There were trousers and tunics of a more functional variety to the right, made from sturdy material in earthy tones, while on the left hung much more ornate costumes, similar to what Sailano wore. Most of the more impressive clothing was done in deep reds and golds that were almost as orange as the setting sun, with some greens and the occasional blue. They were embroidered with beautiful, natural scenes and the same swirling designs Harry had seen etched into the plate armor. He avoided those and instead pulled a simple dark green tunic and black trousers before slipping into the bath where a tub of warm water already waited for him with fresh towels.

Harry hadn’t had a true bath since he’d taken the egg from the Second Task to the prefect’s bathroom like Cedric had told him to. Cedric, who was dead now because of him. The Third Task felt like a distant memory, something that had happened to someone else ages ago. Had it been a day since? Two days? His arm was still wrapped in a bandage but when Harry peeled the wrappings away the cut was gone, the skin pale and clear. It was like it had never happened. Perhaps it hadn’t? No, Harry’s luck was good, but it wasn’t that good.

He scrubbed his skin beyond clean until the water was cold and there was nothing more to do except to get up and get dressed. The clothing he’d taken from the wardrobe was slightly big on him, but that was nothing new to Harry. He’d worn Dudley’s hand-me-downs his entire life and was used to faded, worn clothing that hung off his body. A bit of extra fabric was nothing. The tunic was soft and copied the same swirling designs from the armor and coats in a simpler form. The trousers were supple and allowed for easy movement. In the bottom of the wardrobe were a pair of soft leather boots. As Harry stood and looked at himself in the mirror, he could barely find anything of himself in the image. He gathered up his Hogwarts robes and hung them in the wardrobe, but not before he transferred his wand from his robe pocket to his boot. That was still the same. His wand.

The thought of staying in the room alone was worse than hugging a Blast-Ended Skrewt, so Harry opened the door and stepped out into the garden courtyard. The sun had long set, yet lanterns were placed along the pathway and the moon and the stars served as plenty of light to see by. The world was quiet and peaceful in the garden, the silence broken only by the nighttime insects. Harry’s soft boots tread the ground silently and he was sure there must’ve been a spell or charm on them. Hermione had often complained about his and Ron’s excessive noise as they snuck around the castle undercover of the Invisibility cloak. A cloak Harry had left in Hogwarts with the rest of his personal belongings. Ron and Hermione would see to it, he was sure.

It was the quiet shuffling behind him that drew Harry from his thoughts. His boots might’ve been silent, but someone else’s were not. Faster than he ever had before, Harry pulled his wand from his boot and spun, a curse already on the tip of his tongue. But the curse died as he realized who was following him.

“Roimon?”

“Forgive me for startling you, _Tárnya_ ,” the guardian replied.

“What are you doing here?”

“I am assigned to remain with you by Lord Sailano,” Roimon said.

Harry frowned. “I told Lord Sailano that I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Roimon shrugged. “Don’t consider me a bodyguard then. Consider me an extra pair of eyes in an unfamiliar world. You are more than capable of defending yourself against enemies you know, but now you are in a different world. There are some enemies here you don’t know.”

“Like who?”

But Roimon shook his head and refused to speak further. “It is not my place. Just rest knowing I am not far away.”

However, Harry couldn’t feel assured. If anything, now his mind fell to creating potential dangers. Every rustle in the bushes, every strange animal call, even the occasional clatter of a rock under Roimon’s boot had him on edge. Harry became very aware of the guardian at his back as he walked and tried to return to the initial peace of the garden. But it was lost and finally Harry gave up and turned to Roimon.

“Do you know how to get to the kitchens from here? I’m feeling a bit hungry.”

Roimon led the way to the kitchens, Harry following and trying to remember which hallway he was passing down in relation to where he thought his room lay. From the outside the house had not seemed so big, but Harry was quickly realizing that was a mistaken assumption. Four years in the wizarding world still hadn’t taught him that not everything is as it seems on the outside. Harry expected to be led to a simple kitchen where he might find some supplies for a sandwich, but instead Roimon led him not to the kitchens but to the dining hall where Sailano and Narwien were already eating and sharing light conversation in the language of the _eldar_. Of course they ceased as soon as Harry entered and both rose to their feet.

“ _Tárnya_ ,” Sailano murmured. “I trust you are feeling refreshed?”

Narwien smiled timidly from her own place at the table.

“Yes, thank you,” Harry replied.

“We have saved you a space at the dining table,” Sailano said, indicating an empty plate to his right across from Narwien. “Forgive us for starting without you.”

“It’s fine,” Harry insisted. Uncertainly he took a seat at the table, but that seemed to be what Sailano and Narwien were waiting for. They were seated again after him and returned to their own meals. The table held a number of unfamiliar dishes that Harry tentatively helped himself to. It seemed that the _eldar_ favored fruits and vegetables more than meats and grains like Harry was used to. Still, many of the dishes were quite good and Harry wasn’t one to turn his nose up at food. His stomach was growling and he enthusiastically tucked in.

Sailano and Narwien were watching him as they ate. Roimon had taken up a spot behind Harry’s chair, against the wall. Harry didn’t think it was very fair that he had to watch the rest of them eat, but he doubted Roimon would sit down with them even if he offered. It wasn’t really his place to offer anyways. This was Sailano’s house.

“You look very much like your grandfather,” Sailano said at last. “Those clothes belonged to him when he was a young man, many years ago.”

Harry swallowed carefully before he spoke. “Most people say that I look like my father.”

Sailano sighed. “Yalmëtur was quite young when he left. Carastar looked for him for days, hoping that he was simply playing a very long game. It was a week before he was convinced that Yalmëtur was indeed gone from the palace. By then it was too late to find him in the human world. Any trail had gone cold and even our best trackers could not find him. Although,” Sailano paused thoughtfully, “I suppose that is not true. Turmo found him. We should have guessed. Turmo always knew Yalmëtur the best.”

“You called Snape ‘Turmo’ in Dumbledore’s office. Who is he?”

“Turmo was a scout and tracker, one of the best I’ve ever seen. He often would play with Yalmëtur and indulge in his youthful adventures. He disappeared while away many years ago and was presumed dead. But now I know that he did indeed find our errant prince, however it seemed he chose to remain in the human world to guard him rather than return him to Aicassë.”

“But Snape said Turmo is dead. And…he seemed happy about it.”

Sailano frowned. “Turmo was a dedicated scout and tracker, but he was passed over as a guardian because he was too fond of spirits. I can only speculate, but it appears as though ‘Snape’, as you called him, has continued his mission to protect the heir. I would assume he is Turmo’s son, Sercohtar.”

Throughout the years Harry had known Snape, he’d had a tumultuous relationship with the Potions professor, and that was putting it mildly. Harry knew that Snape hated him because of his father. Snape had made reference to it enough and Lupin had confirmed that they were rivals in school. But Harry has always assumed Snape’s animosity for his father had come from that. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Sailano had been impressed that Snape had continued Turmo’s mission to protect Harry’s father, and later Harry, but Snape had obviously been resentful. He was continuing a job he hadn’t wanted, but for some reason felt compelled to do, whether it was by magic or some misplaced sense of honor and duty. If Harry was stuck in the position of protecting Draco Malfoy just because his dad had done it before him, he would’ve been pretty resentful too. And all of it begged the question, what else had he missed? Snape had obviously known who Harry was, _what_ Harry was. Were there clues along the way? Should Harry have seen that there was something different sooner? As he ate he found himself going over every interaction with Snape he could think of, but nothing stood out. Turmo had been a great tracker, and Snape was a great git.

“So, what happens now?” Harry asked when they were finishing their meals. He was full and now ready for a warm bed and hopefully dreamless sleep.

“In the morning I will take you to the Hall of the Council and present you to them. You are our _Tar-Eldatur_ , but there are many things you do not yet know. Had you been born and raised as you should have been, you would have had tutors and trainers to prepare you. The Council will most likely assign these tomorrow in hopes that we may instruct you in our culture and your duties as quickly as possible.”

Harry frowned and fiddled with his napkin. “That sounds…really difficult.”

“It will be hard, yes,” Sailano agreed. “But never forget that you are the _Tar-Eldatur_. The blood of kings flows through your veins. You were born to lead us.”


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Harry tugged at the stiff collar of the long overcoat he wore and smoothed out his tunic for the hundredth time since he’d dressed. At his side Sailano stood serenely in clothing similar to Harry’s but not as grandiose. They were waiting to enter the Hall of the Council where those who saw to the day-to-day governing of the Eldar presided. Sailano was technically part of the Council, but as he was the one to find Harry, he would not be part of the decision that would be made today.

With a deep breath, Harry reached up and adjusted the band of gold Narwien had placed on his forehead that morning. At its center lay a golden gem. It wasn’t _the_ Crown, she was quick to assure him. Rather it was more of an item that the Tar-Eldatur would wear in battle or when not at a state function. It was a reminder that Harry was set apart. It was strange and made his skin itch. Harry knew Sailano could feel his nervousness. Roimon, who stood a few feet back by the door to the waiting room could feel Harry’s nervousness.

“You are Tar-Eldatur,” Sailano murmured. “Remember that when you stand before the Council. They answer to you.”

His words were meant to reassure, but they only served to make his heart beat faster and he was starting to feel a bit lightheaded. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the doors opened. Sailano waited a moment for Harry to take the first step before he fell in half a step behind with Roimon who was like Harry’s shadow.

The Hall of the Council was large, but not all that impressive. There were no banners or tapestries, no statues of past Tar-Eldaturs. The room was quite plain with stone walls and floors and a few windows to let in natural light. The Great Hall at Hogwarts was more imposing. Much like the Great Hall, at the very end was a wooden table that spanned the width of the hall. The doors and the table were flanked by a pair of guardians and behind the table sat seven chairs. Only five were occupied with the center most and the one to the left of the center chair unoccupied. After speaking with him the night before, Harry knew enough about Sailano’s position to know the chair to the left was his. The center chair was the same as the others, except a thick layer of dust lay over it. Obviously nobody had sat there in years. It was the chair for the Tar-Eldatur, who made up the seventh member of the High Council.

Harry’s eyes quickly darted over the other five occupied chairs. The eldar seated in those chairs were rather varied. On the far left sat a woman with long, dark hair shot through with gray. She reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall in how she watched him closely, as if grading his entrance. Beside her sat a younger man with fiery red hair, dressed in a leather surcoat with a bow and arrows slung across the back of his seat. On the far right was quite possibly the oldest person Harry had ever seen. He would bet every Sickle in his Gringotts vault that the eldar was even older than Dumbledore, though that was where their similarities ended. Where the Headmaster had long hair and a beard, this eldar had no hair whatsoever. His clothing was brown and simple and his hand rested on a sturdy cane, propped up against the table. He looked like he was so fragile he would fall apart any moment, however he watched Harry walk the length of the hall with sharp gray eyes the color of a storm cloud. Beside the oldest eldar sat two more that were night and day from each other. One had darker skin and eyes like freshly turned soil. The other was pale with hair like sunshine and eyes as blue as the clear sky. Both were younger, like the red-haired eldar by the woman.

Every eye watched and judged Harry as he strode down the room so that when Harry finally came to stand before the Council, he felt like he was standing naked before all of Hogwarts.

“ _Elen síla lúmenn' omentiemmo_.” Harry stumbled over the unfamiliar phrase Narwien had taught him this morning as she helped him prepared to meet the Council.

None of the Council replied and Harry thought perhaps he’d pronounced something wrong and actually insulted the Council. But Sailano didn’t step in or say anything. Rather the very old eldar on the end rose, leaning heavily on his cane and stepped out from behind the table. His walking stick made sharp taps on the stone floor as he approached and Harry didn’t dare move a muscle as the eldar stood before him, caught in those storm eyes. When he at last spoke, it was like the sound of wind through the branches of a tree.

“ _Istan cendelelya_.” I know your face.

Harry couldn’t say how he understood what the eldar said, but it didn’t matter because the next moment he was being hugged and the old eldar was weeping. Uncertainly Harry hugged him back. The eldar chuckled as he pulled back and wiped the tears of joy from his eyes.

“Forgive me, _Tárnya_. I never thought I would live to see your return. You have your grandfather’s visage.”

“Everyone says I look like my dad,” Harry blurted out, then wanted to smack himself in the forehead for saying something so dumb.

“Well I am not convinced!” The golden-haired eldar stood haughtily from his seat. “Oirandur may be fooled but I will not be. What proof have you that you are truly _Tar-Eldatur_?”

“His magic sings like his father and grandfather,” the old eldar, Oirandur, replied. He sniffed, unimpressed by his compatriot. “Even a blind fool like you can feel it.”

The female on the end cut in before the blonde could retort. “Rávener, Oirandur, take your seats.”

Grudgingly both eldar returned to where they were sitting, shooting disgruntled glances over the darker-skinned eldar between them. When they were seated once more, the female addressed Harry.

“What is your name, child?” she asked, more kindly than she’d spoken before.

“Er, Harry Potter.”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“And are you the _Tar-Eldatur_?”

Harry knew he was supposed to say yes, but something in him thought it was better to tell the truth.

“I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t know I was…an eldar until yesterday. My parents died when I was a baby. They never told me anything.”

His honesty seemed to impress the Council. Oirandur smiled gently while many of the others nodded or observed him pensively.

“If I were to tell you my name was Tatharë, what would you say?”

Harry couldn’t say how, but the words rang sour to him, like the cacophony from a badly-tuned instrument.

“I’d say you were lying,” he replied carefully. He didn’t want to insult her, but he knew the truth was what she was looking for right now.

“ _Naitë olos_ ,” Oirandur declared.

Rávener snorted. “Or a good informant. Tell me, _Tar-Eldatur_ , do I have three children, or six?”

Harry frowned. “Neither.”

“But I was born in Aicassë.”

“Yes.”

“As were Ornon and Nyarmo.” Rávener gestured to the red-haired and dark-skinned eldar respectively.

Harry shook his head. “Ornon was, Nyarmo was not.”

Rávener obviously did not expect Harry to get the questions right. But when he did, the eldar frowned, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat.

Oirandur laughed. “Are you content _now_ , Rávener? This is most decidedly the son of Yalmëtur and grandson of Carastar. _Mai omentaina, Melda tár._ _Órenya linda tye-cenien._ ”

“ _Nán alassëa tye-omentien_ ,” Harry replied. I am happy to meet you. And he was. He liked Oirandur. He wasn’t too keen on Rávener.

“Allow me to introduce the members of this Council,” the female said. “I am Mendenis. You have met Oirandur and Rávener. By my side is Ornon Herumacil, our Sword master, and the other is Nyarmo, our Lore master.”

“ _Mai omentaina, Tárnya_ ,” Nyarmo replied in a smooth voice, while Ornon simply nodded. Harry nodded and returned a greeting.

At this point Sailano spoke for the first time since they’d entered.

“Now that you are convinced of his identity, there is the matter of his education. Yalmëtur implanted some memories, but as of now they remain secured within the Tar-Eldatur’s mind.”

Nyarmo nodded. “Then I agree, he must be taught.

“And who better than our own Lore master?” Mendenis added with amusement.

“He must also be able to protect himself.” When Ornon spoke his voice was gruff and low.

“I _can_ protect myself,” Harry insisted, bristling at the implication that he was weak.

“We shall test that,” Ornon replied simply.

“And Sailano will be charged with _etiquette_ ,” Rávener added, obviously taking a stab at Harry, though for what he didn’t know. Perhaps after some formal classes with Sailano he would understand.

Sailano nodded. “Very well. In the interim, I propose that the Tar-Eldatur’s presence here in Métimalondë remain private until such time that he is prepared for a formal introduction.”

“I object,” Oirandur declared. “The people should know their Tar-Eldatur.”

“But first their Tar-Eldatur must know his people,” Sailano insisted. “Haldanár has lived his entire life among the humans. Let him first learn about the Eldar before his is expected to rule over them.”

The Council exchanged glances and Harry thought they were perhaps taking a vote. He knew Oirandur’s opinion, but Oirandur obviously had more confidence in Harry’s “natural ability to lead” than Harry himself did. Or, apparently, the rest of the Council.

“Very well,” Mendenis said at last. “The Tar-Eldatur will have one month to live among the Eldar before a formal presentation. During that time he will learn of his people and prepare for his duties.” She fixed her eyes on Harry. “Is the Tar-Eldatur in agreement?”

All eyes were on him. A month seemed like a long time, but Harry knew it could not possibly be long enough to learn everything he needed to become Tar-Eldatur. But he didn’t dare disagree with the Council.

“Yes.”

Ornon stood, taking the quiver from the back of his chair. “Then we’ll start today. Join me at the training grounds in one hour.” And then he stalked out and the meeting was over. Harry waited to let out his breath until he was back in the waiting room, away from the rest of the Council.

“You did well, _Tárnya_ ,” Sailano said.

“Is it always like that?” Harry asked, trying to joke a little but failing.

Sailano frowned. “The Council has ruled for many years. They are very used to getting their way. But you rule over them. They may choose one thing, but in the end the decision is always yours. As Tar-Eldatur, it will be your responsibility to listen to their counsel, and decide.”

Harry couldn’t think of deciding against Mendenis or Rávener, or even kind Oirandur. They all seemed so wise, and intimidating. How could Harry know better than them?

 

In the depths of Hogwarts Castle, Hermione Granger was on a mission that her friend, Ron Weasley, was desperately trying to talk her out of.

“Hermione, this is mad! If he doesn’t slam the door in your face he’ll hex us into next year!”

“No he won’t,” Hermione replied. “He’s a teacher.”

“Exactly, and you don’t just go demanding answers from teachers. Especially not the greasy git of the dungeons! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s just go back to the library.”

“No,” Hermione said primly. “The library has no further information. We’ve exhausted all of its sources; it’s time we look elsewhere.” They arrived at their destination, an unassuming door in the depths of Hogwarts’ dungeons. Hermione raised her hand to knock, but Ron grabbed it quickly.

“Hermione it’s a death wish. I know you want to help Harry but you saw what happened in Dumbledore’s office, how he reacted. There’s got to be another way of figuring this out.”

Hermione huffed. “There’s no time to find another way,” she replied, pulling her hand from Ron’s grip and raising it to knock again. However the door suddenly swung open and the two Gryffindors came face-to-face with a very obviously annoyed Snape.

“Get in, before someone else hears your squabbling,” Snape growled.

Hermione didn’t need telling twice and hurried to enter. Ron hesitated a moment, but after a sharp look from both Hermione and Snape he entered. When Snape closed the door behind them, Ron thought it sounded too much like the lid closing on a coffin. He was sure that was the only way they’d be leaving this office.

Snape strode around to his desk that was strewn with notes of some sort. He’d obviously been in the middle of something, judging by the fact that there was a potion sitting in a small cauldron in stasis on his desk.

“What was so important that you felt the compulsion to tromp through the dungeons the night before the Hogwarts Express leaves? Exams are cancelled for this year so you cannot possibly be here to discuss your results.”

Ron had his mouth clamped shut and his fingers on his wand, ready to pull it at the first sign of danger. Hermione, on the other hand, jumped on the opportunity.

“Sir, we wanted to discuss the events that took place shortly after the Third Task.”

Snape’s expression hardened. “I think that is a subject better discussed with the Headmaster,” he hissed lowly.

“Absolutely,” Ron agreed. But Hermione wasn’t having any of it.

“Respectfully, I disagree,” she said simply. “It was obvious that while the Headmaster is knowledgeable in many things, this is one thing _you_ have more experience with. Please, I’ve exhausted every source in the library but nothing is able to give me any clear facts about the Eldar or their Tar-Eldatur. You’re the only hope we have of potentially helping our friend.”

Ron expected Snape to bellow for them to leave and never come back. But instead he simply stared at them as if measuring them. It was most un-Snape-like and Ron was terrified of what was to come next. Hermione stood her ground, though, and met his gaze unflinching. At last it was Snape who broke the silence.

“What makes you think Potter needs your help?”

Hermione frowned. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“It’s clear you know very little about the Eldar, or else you would know that the Tar-Eldatur doesn’t need help from two under-aged schoolchildren. He is not simply a king, he’s _the_ king. The Tar-Eldatur has power that you wouldn’t even dream of. _Naitë olos_ , “truth sight”, is only the beginning. Your _friend_ has been taken to the Eldar sanctuary and if he returns, he won’t be the same person you once knew. For all intents and purposes, Harry Potter is dead.”

Snape’s terse words bit into Hermione better than any creature could. She’d encouraged Harry to go with Lord Sailano, to help the Eldar. She’d thought she could research and perhaps help him find a way to help the Eldar _and_ defeat Voldemort. She thought that in a few short months she’d have her friend back and together they would save the Wizarding World. She’d been as naïve as, well, as Ron could be.

“You’re wrong,” she whispered.

Snape smirked. “I thought you came here for the truth?”

“I came here for information to help Harry. You’re wrong. Harry will always be Harry. And he _will_ return because he is my friend.” She turned on her heel and left with Ron stumbling to keep up. She didn’t look back and see Snape’s self-satisfied smirk. She didn’t even want to entertain the thought that perhaps he was right. Perhaps in encouraging him to pursue his heritage, she _had_ cost herself her first true friend.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

After the meeting with the Council, Harry was happy to shed the formal clothing for something more practical. Ornon had called him down to the training grounds and Harry was determined to prove himself. He had his wand tucked into his belt and as he and Roimon walked down to the training grounds he found himself going over every defensive spell he’d learned in class and preparing for the Triwizard Tournament. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he really didn’t know all that many. By the time he and Roimon arrived at the training ground just beyond the edge of the city proper, Harry was feeling less confident in his skills. When he caught sight of the training ground itself, he knew he was in way over his head.

The ground was filled with eldar, both male and female, and all of them seemed to be doing different things. To one side Harry saw archers shooting at targets off in the distance. There was another group that were practicing some form of unarmed combat in synchronicity, their movements perfectly aligned. In another area, Harry could see two eldar fighting with swords, surrounded by onlookers who were shouting suggestions. Off to the right, a female eldar had an axe and was hacking away at a sturdy wooden post, taking chunks out of it with each blow. In the middle of it all stood Ornon, his bow slung over his back and a short sword at his hip. He moved among the groups, watching for a moment and making corrections or giving encouragement. His red hair was a beacon as it flew in the slight breeze and an energy danced in his eyes as he watched a fight. In a moment Harry knew that this was where Ornon belonged, not in the simple Hall of the Council. Out in the midst of a battle, stood the true Ornon.

Harry had the feeling Ornon knew he was there the moment he arrived at the training grounds, but he didn’t acknowledge Harry until he’d worked his way back around and stood before him, looking over his sturdy clothing. Ornon’s eyebrow raised at Harry’s wand tucked into the belt, but he didn’t anything about it.

“Let’s get something straight,” Ornon said gruffly, “You’re here to train. A sword doesn’t care if you’re a king or a farmer and nor do I. You will be treated as every other eldar who comes here. Roimon will not help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Harry replied, bristling at Ornon’s jabs.

“Good, then let’s get started. Three laps around this field to warm up and then we’ll see just how well you can ‘defend yourself’.”  

Harry suppressed a grumble as he begrudgingly took up an easy jog around the field. Roimon, to his surprise, did not join him but rather took up a spot on a rock at the edge of the training grounds and watched his progress. Harry started off at a decent pace, but the field was bigger than he’d first thought and by the time he finished the first lap, he was breathing heavier than he should’ve been. But he refused to show Ornon and continued to push himself to keep the same pace and the panting to a minimum. The result was by the time he finished and returned, he was breathing rather heavily but trying to control it and his legs were burning like they hadn’t since the days when Dudley and his friends used to play Harry Hunting.

If Ornon noticed Harry’s fatigue, he made no comment. Rather he gestured over to where there was an assortment of wooden weapons for training purposes.

“Go and choose your weapon.”

Ornon already held a wooden sword in his hand. Harry hesitated. He wasn’t expecting to use weapons. He thought they would just be dueling, with magic. Harry didn’t know how to use a sword, and Ornon was the Sword _master_ , meaning Harry didn’t stand a chance against him. The best he could do would be to hold his ground as long as he could. So he picked up a sword around the same length as the Sword of Gryffindor, the only other sword Harry had ever held in his life. In one hand he held his sword and in the other he held his wand. It was obvious from the way he hefted the wooden sword that he was unfamiliar with it, but again Ornon didn’t say anything. The Sword master simply settled into a comfortable ready stance and waited for Harry to make the first move. And he did.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Harry bellowed, and the red jet flew towards Ornon. Harry thought for sure he would Stun the eldar, but at the last moment Ornon brought his sword up. The spell hit an invisible shield and was absorbed, leaving Ornon standing unharmed. Rather than gape at the show of wandless magic, Harry fired off another Stunner and a few other curses he was familiar with from Defense Against the Dark Arts. Each time Harry was sure the spell would hit Ornon, but each time he raised his sword and parried the spell.

“ _Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus! Incendio! Bombarda! Diffindo!”_ More and more spells flew and as each one was blocked, Harry became more determined. Some of the spells he cast could severely hurt Ornon if they touched him, But nothing ever did. The Sword master parried each spell like he would the blows of another sword. No matter how fast Harry cast or how much power he put into them, Ornon remained untouched and Harry was starting to tire. When one of the spells rebounded his way, he barely had time to cast a Shield charm. The next second Ornon stepped forward and delivered a slash so fast Harry barely even saw it. He was knocked backwards and his head hit the ground.

When he came to again he was staring up at the blue sky Roimon and Ornon were leaning over them and Ornon was just removing his hand from Harry’s forehead. Harry blinked up at them, confused how he’d ended up on the ground.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You lost,” Ornon replied simply. “You were undisciplined, sloppy, and reckless and you relied only on your magic to fight. You have proven what I expected. The humans neglected your training. You’ll have to train very hard to make up for the deficiency.”

Ornon grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him to his feet. Harry was expecting his head to spin, but he felt fine. In fact, it didn’t even hurt.

“Do you feel any lingering pain?” Ornon asked.

“No,” Harry replied, surprised at the answer.

“Good. I don’t want you to bring that to another training session.”

Harry looked down at his wand, confused. “Why? I need it to cast magic.”

“No you don’t. That is a crutch that humans use so they do not have to discipline their minds. Magic is part of you. You don’t need a stick and ancient words to channel it, only the will. From now on, any magic you cast in battle will be from you.”

“But I can’t cast magic wandlessly,” Harry insisted. “Or without a spell.”

Ornon huffed in annoyance. “Must I prove my proficiency again? If you would like another match I would be more than happy to oblige.”

The thought of another duel was not a tempting one. Harry felt bone tired and he’d only been out on the grounds for half an hour.

“No, sir,” Harry replied.

“With proper training and discipline, you will not need a wand or spells to incorporate magic into your fighting. It will become natural. In the meantime, we will train your body and when the body is ready, the mind will be also. Now take up your sword once more.”

Reluctantly Harry tucked his wand back into his belt and grabbed the wooden sword that had been tossed from his hand.

“Show me your stance,” Ornon ordered.

Harry adopted what he thought was a decent approximation of Ornon’s earlier ready-stance. But apparently it was all wrong. Using the end of his own wooden sword, Ornon poked and prodded Harry’s body until it was in a stance he was satisfied with. From there, they worked on simple parries and strikes. When he knew them to Ornon’s satisfaction, Harry was left to practice over and over while Ornon made another circuit of the grounds. For hours, they worked until at last Ornon called a halt and dismissed him. His arms had never ached so much and his hands were chaffed from gripping the sword hilt. Happily, Harry returned the wooden sword to the rack and with Roimon in tow, beat a quick escape. The guardian chuckled at Harry’s quick pace.

 

That evening Harry once more shared a meal with Sailano and Narwien. They shared comfortable conversation, until Sailano asked Harry how things had gone at the training grounds.

“Not well,” Harry admitted.

“Oh?” Sailano asked.

“Ornon says I’m undisciplined and reckless.”

Sailano chuckled, much to Harry’s surprise.

“Ornon says that about most new students,” Sailano explained. “But there is no finer _Herumacil_ in all the Eldar. It is because of Ornon that Métimalondë still stands today. He oversees the guardians and the city’s defenses. When Voldemort attacked we were…ill-prepared.”

Narwien stared down at her food and even Sailano grew more somber.

“Forgive me, _Tárnya_ ,” Sailano said at last. “I did not mean to bring up the mistakes of the past.”

Harry frowned. “Why would you apologize for that?” he asked. Narwien seemed surprised by his reaction but Harry was confused. “If you don’t talk about what happened, how can you make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

Sailano nodded, “Well spoken,” he conceded, obviously impressed. “Your grandfather, Carastar, was a great king who cared for his people very much. He built us up and many refer to his reign as a golden age. They called him Carastar, The Builder, not because that was his name. His mother name was Náretar, Fire King. Carastar was a name given to him by his people. He opened our gates and we flourished. But, opening the gates allowed others to enter that had other expectations. We became great under Carastar, but we also became vulnerable and we paid the ultimate price.

“After Aicassë was lost, we retreated here and Ornon was a driving force behind fortifying our last haven. It is largely because of his dedication and service that we survive now.”

Harry picked at his food, Sailano’s words milling around in his head. A fool could see that the Eldar loved Harry’s grandfather, Carastar. But Harry hadn’t considered that his grandfather could’ve also been the reason behind the Eldar’s fall, or Harry’s own exile. After all, there had to be a reason James, or Yalmëtur, left in the first place.

“Are there other cities?”

“No,” Sailano replied. “There are some scattered settlements, but mostly small, roaming bands. This is the only place where the Eldar live in any sizeable number. The travelling groups usually come to Métimalondë for celebrations, but that does not happen very often. It has been long since we’ve celebrated anything, and many are still fearful of staying in one place for too long. Especially a target such as this one.”

“A _target_?”

“Voldemort has returned,” Sailano said, his voice low and serious. “You confirmed it yourself. You witnessed it. The Eldar were a target for Voldemort and his followers before his fall, and although we have since gone into hiding and severed most contact with the Wizarding World, it is only a matter of time before Voldemort and his followers learn that not only have we survived, but we have a new King. This is the heart of our people now, the last safe haven from the Darkness in the world.”

“And I’m supposed to safeguard it,” Harry finished.

Sailano met his gaze and nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s why I need to train with Ornon.”

“And more. You must become the Tar-Eldatur that your people need, and it must happen quickly. For every day that you grow, so does Voldemort. He has tried to wipe us out before. He will try to do so again.”

Harry stared down Sailano, his dinner forgotten. A zealous fire burned in his emerald green eyes, the same fire the Sailano recognized in Carastar, and even in some of the brief moments he’d seen Yalmëtur before he’d run away. It was the spark of the Tar-Eldatur; the hidden fire that raised cities and razed them. It could lead an army to victory and bring the masses to their feet. Sailano could feel hope rising in his chest.

When Harry spoke again, his voice was low and rang with some hidden power as the fire in his eyes burned down to a glowing ember.

“I won’t let him.”


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

The next morning, Harry once more joined Ornon on the training grounds, and once more the Herumacil treated him as a lazy student that needed to be whipped back into shape. For much of the morning he ran laps around the field, and when he wasn’t running laps he was lifting heavy weights to build his strength or practicing the strikes and parries Ornon had taught him the day before over and over again until Harry’s shoulders screamed and he was sure his arms would simply fall off with the next strike. Some such as Sailano, Narwien, and Roimon treated Harry with deference, but Ornon seemed to take pleasure in reminding him that he was a novice, unversed in fighting and worthless in a battle. It frustrated Harry. All his life he’d felt he was different from the Dursleys, and he had been right. But when he entered the Wizarding World, they called him the Boy-Who-Lived and everyone expected him to be powerful for something he didn’t even remember. In Hogwarts he only wished to be normal. Here in Métimalondë, Harry still wished to be normal. He watched other eldar who looked to be around his age training with each other. They were good and they fought with speed and skill that came with years of training. Harry had little hope of catching up to them, but he still tried and it drove his practice until he was ready to fall over. Then Ornon introduced him to Alassë.

“Alassë will be your training partner,” Ornon explained. “I have many to train. Alassë will run through your exercises and report back to me.”

Alassë was wearing leather “practice armor” and a helm, similar to what Harry wore over his own clothing. The eldar hefted a training sword and took up the familiar ready stance.

“Let’s see if you’ve learned anything,” the eldar called in lightly-accented English.

Trying to shake life back into his already tired limbs, Harry pulled his own helm down over his face and mirrored Alassë’s stance. In the fights the day before, Ornon had always waited for Harry to strike first and had chosen to parry rather than deliver attacks of his own. Alassë seemed to have no problem with striking first, though. Harry barely had time to bring his practice sword up and block the sweep that wouldn’t have severed his head, but would have made him see stars. Harry wanted to tell the other eldar to ease up, but he knew it would be useless, and Ornon would probably berate him for it. He didn’t have time to anyways as Alassë delivered another strike right away. It was clear the eldar wasn’t using magic to assist the strikes, otherwise Harry would’ve been fried by now. He hadn’t been able to figure out how Ornon had used his sword to generate a shield charm. Harry had tried the night before in the privacy of Sailano’s garden, but nothing seemed to work. Without a magical core, Harry’s sword was just a stick. He would’ve had just as much luck picking up a branch from the ground and trying to do magic with that.

Harry’s new training partner was relentless. The other eldar didn’t let up even for a moment and was so fast that Harry had no chance of getting in one of his “wild swings”, as Ornon described his counterattacks. Alassë struck high and Harry was able to block it, but he didn’t see the eldar’s foot shoot out and kick the back of his knee. His leg buckled and he lost his stance. Immediately his eyes fell and Alassë cracked him over the head with the practice sword. Harry reeled back. His head was rattled, despite the practice helm taking the majority of the impact. Alassë hit hard!

“What was that for?” Harry demanded, tearing off his helm to check if there was any damage to his head.

The other eldar snorted, removing their own helm. Harry’s eyes widened in shock and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re a _girl_?”

Alassë rolled her eyes, brushing a stray strand of dark brown hair off her face and back into her braid.

“You’re a _boy_?” she mocked.

Immediately Harry felt embarrassed by his hasty words and his cheeks would’ve turned bright red if they hadn’t already been flushed from the training.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You just caught me by surprise.”

“The humans may think girls are weaker, but the _eldar_ know better,” Alassë retorted. “You’ve spent too much time with them if you think I couldn’t kick your ass with one arm tied behind my back.”

From a little ways away, Harry heard Roimon chuckle and he only felt his mortification more strongly.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

But Alassë waved her hand like she was swatting an annoying gnat. “Enough with the ‘sorry’. That fight was pathetic. You need some serious work if you’re going to join my group. The others will eat you for breakfast. Toughen up and let’s go again.”

She pulled on her helm again and raised her sword. The last thing Harry wanted to do was fight her again, but the other option was facing Ornon, and Harry preferred to remain conscious as often as he could. So he replaced his helm and took up his stance again and once more Alassë whopped him. This time Harry landed on his butt in the dirt and Roimon was full on laughing, not bothering to try to stifle his mirth.

“Again,” Alassë declared and Harry begrudgingly got to his feet. It looked like his new “training partner” would be just as bad as Ornon, except without his bedside manner.

After training Harry returned to Sailano’s house once more, bathed and changed. Narwien had left him a simple lunch in his room which he ate with enthusiasm. After he had washed the dirt and sweat of the practice field from his hair and skin, Harry and Roimon made their way to another section of Sailano’s home where the study was located.

Sailano and Narwien called it a study, but Harry thought it was more of a library. The walls were full of books and where there were no books, there were maps and tapestries depicting major historical events that were significant to the Eldar. There was a small table and two chairs to one side, but on the far wall was a large wooden desk and behind the desk, Harry recognized one of the Council members he’d met the day before. Nyarmo wore a rich orange coat the color of a sunrise and his dark hair was pulled back from his face and fell down his back. He was carefully studying a text when Harry entered, but stood almost immediately.

“Welcome, _Tárnya_ ,” he greeted Harry, bowing his head respectfully. Harry copied his bow, but quickly realized that wasn’t what he was supposed to do when Nyarmo frowned.

“You need bow to no eldar, _Tárnya_ ,” Nyarmo said quietly. “Least of all me. We were introduced but it was nearly impossible to speak with so many others in the room. I am Nyarmo and many call me ‘the Teacher’. I was appointed Lore Master to the Council when the previous Lore Master was lost during the sack of Aicassë. I do not presume to know everything to do with the Eldar, but what knowledge I have is yours. I am here to serve.”

“Um, thank you,” Harry replied.

“ _Hantanyel_.”

“What?”

 

“’Thank you’ in Eldarin is ‘ _hantanyel’_. Or, if you wish to thank someone more formally, ‘ _hantanyet’_.”

“ _Hantanyel_ ,” Harry repeated. His tongue struggled to form the word, but Nyarmo nodded in approval.

“And to reply you say ‘It is my joy’, which is ‘ _Alassenya nás_ ’.”

“ _Alassenya nás_.”

“ _Márië_. Good. In addition to learning to speak Eldarin, you must also learn to write our language, as well as the history and culture of our people. The Council has charged us with a difficult task, but I have faith we will persevere.”

Nyarmo smiled kindly and Harry found himself smiling back. Nyarmo’s teaching was far from Ornon’s. He was patient where Ornon was demanding and kind where Ornon would make a deprecating comment. His patience was endless too and Harry quickly came to realize why others called him ‘the Teacher’ and why he was Lore Master to the Council. Nyarmo’s memory was limitless and Harry couldn’t comprehend the depths of knowledge contained in his mind. He was a never-ceasing font of wisdom. Harry remembered his history lessons in school and those with Binns at Hogwarts. Where those classes had been full of endless names and dates that Harry was expected to memorize, Nyarmo’s lectures were more stories and the key players were his characters. His soft, calm voice enfolded Harry and brought images of the past to life before his eyes. For hours they remained together in the study, even as the sun sank and they lit candles to see by.

“We call ourselves ‘ _eldar’_ meaning ‘people of the stars’,” Nyarmo explained. “But we are also known as ‘ _Minnónar’_ which means ‘firstborn’. This is because our race is older than even the humans. Many thousands of years before, the Eldar lived in balance with the magic around them. In this time there was not one nation, but three, named for the three elements that make up all. _Kemen_ , Earth. _Nén_ , Water. _Cala_ , Light. The Eldar knew that these three elements create life, for they are essential to it. Without Earth, life is hungry and burdensome for it cannot eat and cannot rest.  Without Water, life is dry and empty and soon withers away to nothing. And without Light, life is cold and dark and it is impossible to know warmth or happiness. The Eldar, even many lifetimes later, still hold roots in the Three Nations.

“For many centuries, the Three Nations lived in balance with Magic and with each other. But as the world turns and life is born and dies, so too does balance fall to chaos, only to return. Soon Kemen became too great and began to outgrow Nén and Cala. The Kemenlië began to demand more but the Nénlië and the Calalië only had enough to give. The Three Nations fell out of balance and there was a terrible war, known as _Ohtanossë_ , the Kin-War. Many of the Eldar were slain and our numbers were greatly reduced. Never again in our history has our race been so prolific since _Ohtanossë_. It was only when there seemed to be no end in sight that an eldar, born of parents from Nén and Cala joined with the daughter of the Kemen lord, and against the wishes of their elders, they were bonded. Their son was Minyacundo which means ‘first guardian’. He was stronger in magic than any other for within him the three elements were balanced once more. He united the Three Nations and became the first Tar-Eldatur, the first of your line. Since then, the Eldar have lived as one people and the line of Minyacundo has remained unbroken and strong.”

Harry sat back from the edge of his seat with a heavy sigh. “Is that why Sailano said only I was able to become Tar-Eldatur?”

Nyarmo was thoughtful for a moment and when he spoke he chose his words carefully.

“Many other lineages have attempted to create balance within their lines, to try to create the same strength that is within the line of the Tar-Eldatur. But no matter how they try, none have been successful. Each eldar holds more of one element than the other two, except for the Tar-Eldatur. I myself tend towards Light, while Lord Sailano is grounded in Earth. If either of us were to try to rule the Eldar, balance would be lost and I dare not even wonder what might become of the Eldar.”

“But what about the Council? You’ve been governing the Eldar for years now, but nothing has happened since, right?”

Nyarmo nodded. “Yes, that is true, the Council has been overseeing much in recent years. The Council holds six, two from each element. I and Ornon are of Light, while Sailano and Oirandur Sartaquen are of Earth and Rávener and Mendenis Saira are of Water. We are not perfectly balanced though, and so the Eldar may survive, but do not thrive. We can only thrive in true balance under our Tar-Eldatur.”

“But what if I die? What if Voldemort kills me or, I don’t know, Alassë takes my head off in practice? What happens to the Eldar when there _is_ no Tar-Eldatur?”

“Then we too will fade until there is no more Eldar. We may survive for some time after, but each generation will become weaker and in time there will be no more. The Eldar cannot live out of balance. Ohtanossë taught us this.”

As Nyarmo spoke, Harry’s heart sank further and his shoulders slumped, feeling the weight of what was expected of him. Without him, the Eldar would die. That was what Nyarmo said in no uncertain terms. Harry was the last Tar-Eldatur. The fate of an entire people came to rest firmly on his shoulders, joined by the fate of the Wizarding World. It was too much. It was too much for anyone to bear, but Harry was only fourteen. He was a mediocre wizard and a terrible swordsman, as Alassë and Ornon were quick to remind him. He didn’t know anything about leading a study group, let alone an entire race. And why was it always him? Why was he the one who had to be shouldered with so much responsibility? Why wasn’t it someone who could handle it, like Dumbledore or Sailano, or even Nyarmo sitting at the desk before him? Any one of them could handle this better than Harry.

All at once the room felt too small. The bookshelves seemed to be moving closer and Harry could feel the weight of the roof over his head, the timbers struggling to hold everything up. Everything was too close. Even Harry’s robe felt like it was made of lead weights and he jumped to his feet, struggling out of it just to breathe properly. But that didn’t seem to work. The ceiling was caving in and the walls were pulling closer and even Nyarmo seemed to be standing over him, his hand on Harry’s shoulder, trying to push him back into the seat.

“I need to go,” Harry croaked as he leapt to his feet and spun towards the door. In that instant, he felt like he was sucked through a plastic straw and he was spat out in the middle of a dark clearing, surrounded by ancient trees. Shocked, confused, and disoriented, Harry could do nothing but hug his knees to his chest and weep.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

_BOY-WHO-DISAPPEARED!_

_By: Rita Skeeter_

_The Boy-Who-Lived is missing! Harry Potter, age 12, has been reported missing from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sources on the inside confirm that Potter has not been seen since the conclusion of the Triwizard Tournament and the tragic accident that claimed the life of the young and courageous Cedric Diggory._

_“He hasn’t been to any meals and the Hospital Wing is empty,” confirmed Draco Malfoy, a contemporary of Harry Potter. While school officials have not reported Potter’s disappearance, this reporter has confirmed from her contacts at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries that Potter has not been transferred to the Janus Thickey Ward or any other ward at St. Mungo’s._

_At the conclusion of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry Potter and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore both declared the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. After a thorough investigation, the Ministry of Magic Auror Office has found no evidence in support of these wild accusations. In fact, substantial evidence suggests that Bartemius Crouch Junior, a former Death Eater and supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, planned and executed the events that lead to the death of Cedric Diggory, possibly in conjunction with notorious mass-murderer, Sirius Black. Crouch Junior has already received the Dementor’s Kiss by order of Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, but Sirius Black still remains at large._

_After surviving such a terrible tragedy at such a tender age, this reporter wonders how Harry Potter is coping. It is possible that his declaration shortly after these tragic events was not a true statement, but rather a desperate cry for help from a boy ill-prepared for such sorrows, desperately trying to reconcile his survivor’s guilt. Albus Dumbledore, who has served as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry longer than any other Headmaster in the school’s history, is known to be indulgent of Potter and his various moods._

_“Potter is always favored by the Headmaster,” confirmed Pansy Parkinson, a fellow student at Hogwarts. “Potter can break every school rule and he will still receive an award for Special Services to the School.”_

_This reporter wonders if perhaps Dumbledore has indulged his favorite student too much this time. Regardless, these questions must remain unanswered for the time as none can confirm the whereabouts of Harry Potter and Dumbledore has declined to comment. This may be a case of actions speaking louder than words. Nevertheless, this reporter promises to keep you, dear readers, right in the middle of the action and with the latest scoops on the Boy-Who-Lied._

Hermione tossed the morning Daily Prophet on the breakfast table at the Burrow with disgust.

“Have you seen this drivel?” she demanded.

Ron swallowed almost a whole piece of toast with his eggs before reaching across to pick up the paper with greasy fingers. Normally Hermione would have chided him to use a napkin first, but she stabbed angrily at her own eggs as Harry’s picture from the Triwizard Tournament blinked in confusion from the front page.

Ron snorted as he read the headline. “’Boy-Who-Disappeared’? They can’t think of anything better?”

“Read the article,” Hermione huffed in annoyance.

“Why? It’s just more Rita Skeeter nonsense, like during the Triwizard Tournament.”

“But it’s calling Harry a liar. It’s trying to say that You-Know-Who hasn’t returned; that Harry is making it up to get attention!”

Ron frowned and snatched up the paper, reading the article. The more he read the more his face turned red in anger until he too threw the paper down on the table, furious.

“That is complete bollocks!” he growled.

“Ronald Weasley, watch your language!” Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen just a moment before.

“Here, read this,” Ron demanded, shoving the paper into his mother’s hands.

Mrs. Weasley noticed the name on the byline. “Rita Skeeter, I can’t stand that woman. She writes such lies, especially about poor Harry. It’s not as if he can help being sick.”

Hermione and Ron shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Harry’s cover story. The night Sailano had left with Harry, Dumbldore, McGonagall, Snape, Ron, and Hermione had all unanimously agreed that Harry’s true whereabouts must remain a secret. To most, Harry was very sick with a contagious disease. He is out of the country, being treated at a special facility. That’s what Mrs. Weasley and the teachers at Hogwarts were told. That’s what his close friends thought. The only ones who knew of Harry’s true lineage and whereabouts were those who had stood in Dumbledore’s office before the end of last term and Madam Pomfrey. Not even Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, knew. But then again it was difficult to get information to Sirius, seeing as how he was on the run from the Aurors.

Like her son, the more Mrs. Weasley read of the article the more she became red until Hermione was sure steam was going to burst from her ears at any moment like in the Muggle cartoons Hermione watched when she was a small child.

“The nerve of _that woman_!” Molly Weasley shrieked. “Of all the lowly, disgusting, vile, shameful, despicable things she has reported, to make light of that poor boy’s death is criminal! And then to turn around and call Harry and Albus Dumbledore liars. The nerve of her, to call herself a reporter!”

“There has to be something we can do,” Ron said. “Some way to make Skeeter tell the truth instead of all those lies.”

Hermione shook her head sadly. “It’s obvious that if something like this is coming out the Ministry has Skeeter in its pocket. No true journalist would report on hearsay with so little evidence to back it up.”

“But whoever reads this is going to think that Harry’s the bad guy.”

“That’s the point,” Hermione replied. “Don’t you see? Fudge wants to discredit Harry. He doesn’t want to admit that You-Know-Who is back. He’d rather bury his head in the sand and pretend nothing is wrong.”

“He’s going to get people killed,” Mrs. Weasley spat. Then she clapped her hand to her mouth as if terrified that her words might come true. Her face fell and she fought back tears.

Ever since returning to the Burrow, Ron, Hermione, and the other Weasley children have been doing their best to stave off what they would consider “the fits”. At times something would remind Mrs. Weasley that things were different now, and that they faced a very real threat again. When that happened, whoever was closest needed to be there to console her and assure her that they were all safe for now. It usually involved no small amount of hugging, but they’d gotten so good at it that it was rare she cried anymore. Not like the first night they’d returned when she hugged them in her arms and refused to let go for almost fifteen whole minutes.

“Mum, it’s alright,” Ron assured her, getting up to place his arms around her shoulders. He had grown taller than her during fourth year and now had to bend down a little bit to hug his mother.

“Yes, I know,” Mrs. Weasley replied. “Just being silly. Would you like more eggs?” And then she was off cooking without either of them agreeing to more eggs. Ron would most likely eat them but Hermione’s stomach was off now and she didn’t think she could swallow another bite. The Daily Prophet article left a sour taste in her mouth, but beyond that, it reminded her that she really had no way of helping her friend. The Hogwarts library had been of no use and Snape had been crueler than usual. It was obvious the Eldar were a touchy subject for him. Hermione wasn’t sure where else she could go for the information she needed. She had just one last chance, which was the reason she was at the Burrow and not at home with her parents.

Mr. Weasley worked in the Ministry of Magic. Hogwarts didn’t have any information, but the Eldar were very private and secretive. However, they had to have come into contact with witches and wizards in the past, which means they most likely had dealings with the Ministry of Magic, more specifically its Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The Department was bound to keep records of its interactions with the Eldar, specifically since they were obviously a high-functioning type of “creature”. Hermione personally hated that term. Creature sounded like an animal. But Harry wasn’t an animal, he was an eldar. “Being” seemed much more sensitive and politically correct. She doubted the Ministry would see it that way, but she had plenty of years after Hogwarts to work on the Ministry of Magic. First, she needed to find a way to help her friend without being with him.

“Something smells good!” Mr. Weasley declared as he entered the kitchen with a sleepy Fred and George behind him. It was midafternoon on a Sunday but Hermione knew the twins had been up late the night before. They had come home from Hogwarts and immediately sequestered themselves in their room. Occasionally a bang or pop or some sort of acrid smell would come from the room where they were no doubt experimenting with something that would earn them plenty of detentions the coming school year. Hermione thought if they could put their brains to more useful work they could make vast accomplishments in many fields of magic. Instead they were more focused on pranks.

“Good morning Dad,” Ron mumbled, more focused on his new set of eggs.

“Good morning, Mr. Weasley,” Hermione said, being sure to make her tone more cheerful.

“Good morning, Hermione. Any special plans for today?”

“No, nothing in particular,” she admitted, looking to Ron. They had finished pouring through the last set of books Hermione had brought to the Burrow last night. That meant Ron would run off to play Quidditch with Ginny and his brothers and that would leave Hermione to entertain herself. Well perhaps she’d missed something the first time through.

She waited until Mr. Weasley had breakfast in front of him and was tucking in before she ventured her question.

“I was wondering if you might be able to help me with a little personal project,” Hermione told him. “You see I’m doing a little summer work on Magical Creatures, but I’m having difficulty finding enough sources. I was wondering if the Ministry has any resources.”

Mr. Weasley looked thoughtful. “Magical Creatures, eh? Well Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures probably keeps an encyclopedia of sorts, not to mention the reports from other interactions. But that would take years to sort through. Their filing system is not the most efficient.”

“Well I have been working on a searching spell that I think might work. Are those records open to the public?”

“Not generally, but I might be able to pull in a favor with Albie. Do you have anything planned tomorrow?”

“No, I’m free,” Hermione was quick to assure him. Perhaps a bit too quick, but Mr. Weasley would likely just think it was her enthusiasm for studying.

“Why don’t you come into work with me and I can see what Albie will do?”

Hermione beamed. “That would be wonderful, Mr. Weasley. Thank you so much!”

Across the table, Ron looked at her like she’d turned violet and sprouted an extra three heads. She sent him a quick glare to stop before someone became suspicious. She gathered her plate and took it to the sink, placing it in line of the scrub brush that was already working on the pans from that morning.

“I think I’ll be at the pond,” Hermione declared to the room at large, gathering up a book she’d left in the sitting room the night before.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Ron called, shoveling the food into his mouth faster so he could finish sooner.

“Take your time,” Hermione replied.

It was a beautiful summer day and the sun was shining on her face, warming her skin. As she walked down to the pond by the Burrow, she couldn’t help but wonder if Harry was experiencing the same beautiful day, or did the Eldar sanctuary have a different weather system altogether? She didn’t even know where it was. I could be in a different country, or knowing magic perhaps even a different realm. There were plenty to choose from, once you knew how to open a gateway between them.

She perched herself among the roots at the base of the tree by the lake and opened her book. For once it wasn’t a research book, but rather something she was reading for pleasure. It had to do with instinctual magic and wandless casting. The author had a very intriguing theory that any spell could be done without a wand, so long as the caster had disciplined his or her mind enough. Wizards used wands with magical cores to help focus their energy. For most, it was absolutely necessary to cast through the wand, but some could do magic without them. Hermione knew Dumbledore was one of them, and she’d seen a few other professors perform small bits of wandless magic. Mostly it was simple things lighting a candle or perhaps summoning something from across the room. Rarely was it any sort of complicated spell or curse. But the author insisted that even something as complex as the Unforgiveable Curses could be performed wandlessly, if the caster had the mental fortitude and discipline to direct their magic without the use of a magical core.

It was such a fascinating subject that she didn’t notice Ron had arrived until he stomped right up in front of her.

“Are you mad?” he demanded.

Hermione sighed. “What do you mean, Ronald?”

“You’re asking my dad to risk his job so you can find out a little bit of useless information about elves?”

“Your father is not risking his job,” Hermione replied. “For your information, I researched these archives already. Any witch or wizard can come and look at them, but it would take months to get all the paperwork and the visiting time. Mr. Weasley can help…expedite that process.”

Ron was still annoyed though. “Just what do you think you’ll find down there that we haven’t already found here? There is no information about elves, other than house elves. Nothing. It’s like they don’t even exist. In fact, if I hadn’t seen Harry with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe they exist.”

“But they do,” Hermione retorted, “And your best friend is one of them. In fact, he’s not just one of them, he’s their leader. Tar-Eldatur. I am trying to be a good friend and gather all of the information I can for when Harry returns. He’ll need to know how witches and wizards have interacted with the Eldar in the past if he’s going to lead them in the future.”

Ron grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, which Hermione recognized as the closest thing she’d get to “You may be right”.

“Look, I want to help Harry. But I don’t want to risk my dad’s job over it. He’s already having problems at work. You read the article, you know how things are in the Ministry. My dad is a known supporter of Dumbledore.”

Hermione frowned. “Is he…are they…threatening him?”

“Not in so many words,” Ron admitted. “But they are letting him know that they are watching him. He has to be careful. I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to go asking for special permission into some dusty old archives.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry he’s having a rough time at work.”

“But you’re still going to do this.”

“You just have to trust your father to know what is safe and what isn’t. If he genuinely thought he could be losing his job, then he wouldn’t take me. He obviously doesn’t think it will be a problem.”

They argued for a bit more, but at last Ron conceded.

“I understand your concern,” Hermione assured him, “But in this time, we have to do things that might be a little risky because they are going to benefit the greater good in the end.”

Ron nodded. “Alright. But the ‘greater good’ doesn’t always include Harry.”


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

It was quiet there. Where he’d ended up, Harry had no clue. But it was quiet there in the meadow, the only sounds the gentle calls of nighttime animals and his own lingering sobs. When he first found himself in the meadow, all he could do was cry. Desperate sobs wracked his entire body as the weight of everything that had happened since the Third Task came crashing down on him. Cedric Diggory was dead. Voldemort was back and in that very moment he was back in the Wizarding World, gathering his strength for another war. Meanwhile Harry was there in Métimalondë, attempting to be something he wasn’t, Tar-Eldatur, the ruler of an entire race he knew nothing about. It was too much and Harry desperately wanted to curl up in a cupboard and never come out again. That was who he’d been for most of his life, just the freak who lived in the cupboard under the stairs. He wasn’t a savior, he wasn’t a king. He was just Harry. And he was lost and scared.

Perhaps the most terrifying thing was that he had no idea where he was. After he’d cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, his mind started thinking back to what had happened to land him in the meadow, and he’d quickly realized that he’d Apparated accidentally. It was all well and good, except Harry had no idea where he was, or how to return to Métimalondë, Hogwarts, or even Number 4 Privet Drive. He was stuck in the middle of the meadow with just the moon and the stars, utterly alone. Growing up an orphan, there had been numerous times when Harry had wished that his parents could be there. Since he’d learned that Sirius was his godfather, he’d wished many times that Sirius could be there to help him, give him advice, or just assure him that no matter how hard it seemed then, things would get better and he just needed to hold his head high and soldier on.

But his parents were dead and Sirius was in the human world. Did he even know where Harry was? Did he even know _what_ Harry was? Had Harry’s father ever told him? Dumbledore had known something, but then Dumbledore seemed to know everything.

 _Except that bit about Snape,_ Harry reminded himself.

But had James told Dumbledore, or had the Headmaster figured it out? And why hadn’t Harry been told? He felt the emotions welling up again at the hopelessness of the situation. He had so many questions, but nobody could or would give him answers. He had the fate of two world resting on his shoulders and nobody he could trust to prop him up. His friends were back in the Wizarding World and out of reach. He didn’t really know anyone where he was. Even Roimon, whom he’d spent a lot of time with recently, was a complete stranger. He couldn’t give him answers. Only one person could’ve done that.

“I wish my father was here,” Harry murmured, as he lay back in the meadow and looked up at the countless stars wheeling overhead.

The thing about accidental magic is that it’s accidental. It’s not meant to be done, and it’s nearly impossible to repeat the process when conscious of the result. And so Harry wasn’t expecting, as he stared up at the night sky and tried to pick out familiar constellations, for the stars themselves to being dancing and spinning like they were part of a great, ancient celestial ballet. He stared up at the night sky in amazement and wonder and for the first time since he’d found out about the Eldar, he understood why they called themselves the “People of the Stars”. Who wouldn’t want to be named for such awe-inspiring and beautiful beings? Over his head and all around him the star spun and danced and wove through each other until in an instant, they froze. In that moment Harry felt the presence of another in the meadow where he had been alone. Dressed resplendent in golden armor with a jeweled crown upon his brow and a mighty sword at his hip, was James Potter.

“Dad?” Harry croaked.

Harry had seen James Potter before, most often in his dreams, but also the night he’d fought Voldemort and their wands had linked. In that time, James and Harry’s mother Lily had appeared as specters, present but not fully, and they seemed to be as they were in the few pictures Harry had seen. This time was different, though. This time Lily was not present, and this time James appeared at once solid and shining with some inner light. He didn’t look as he had in the pictures, but rather as Harry imagined he truly looked, with the same softer eldar features and tapered ears.

At first, James didn’t reply and Harry was afraid that maybe he was some sort of vengeful ghost. But in a moment James’ expression broke into a wide, mischievous smile, just as Harry had seen on Sirius’ face at times and Harry knew this wasn’t an evil spirit, but his father standing before him. It was impossible, and Harry was likely insane, but in that moment he didn’t care.

“Haldanár.” James’s voice rang with a musical quality as he spoke the Eldarin name he’d bestowed upon his son when he was first born.

Overcome, Harry leapt to his feet and threw himself at his father. To his amazement and shock, instead of passing through he came up against warm metal and a solid body. James wrapped his son in his arms tightly and they held each other for such a time as only the stars knew. When Harry at last hesitantly pulled away, there were new tears on his face.

“How? Are you…?”

“I am not alive, _yónya_ , my son,” James replied sadly. “Rather I am only here because you are here, because you need my guidance. I am a part of you, a memory that I locked inside your mind when you were still an infant, so that should anything happen to my body I could still guide you.”

Harry’s heart fell as he took a step back. “So…you’re not real?”

James smiled softly and Harry could see an intense longing in his father’s eyes.

“I am as real as you are, Haldanár,” he said. “I am a part of you, and I will forever be a part of you.”

Harry scrubbed the tears from his face, his anger growing.

“If you’re always a part of me, why did you wait until now to show up? Why did I have to grow up and not know about you? About this? About everything? Why didn’t you tell me about the Eldar from the start?”

“I wanted to,” James replied sadly. “But I also wanted you to experience a wizard’s childhood. In my arrogance I thought I was protecting you from the world that I had grown up in, with duties, responsibilities, and stifling protocols. I wanted a childhood that was, by my definition, better than what I experienced.”

“Well it wasn’t! Were you ‘part of me’ when I was locked in the cupboard for days? Were you ‘part of me’ when I was hungry? Or when Dudley and his friends beat me up?”

“Yes. And I wept with you, frustrated in feeling so powerless. And I was also with you when you learned the truth of the Wizarding World. I shared your wonder and amazement in magic and your elation to meet Ron and Hermione and finally have friends that would stick by you through every adventure and hardship. I was with you through it all and I am so very proud of you, _yónya_.”

Harry could feel joy from his father’s pride welling up inside him, but he quashed it, choosing instead to feed his anger and bitterness.

“Well I’m not proud of you. How could you just leave? How could you abandon the Eldar? You must have known what the Tar-Eldatur means to them, to their future. How could you turn your back on an entire people?”

James’ face fell and Harry swore he saw James’ inner light flicker.

“I was selfish,” James admitted. “I know youth is not an excuse, but it is what I have. I was young and selfish, spoiled from living in the palace at Aicassë and convinced that the world was mine to do with as I wished. My father Carastar desperately tried to make me see differently, but I was resentful of him. He tried to taper my ‘youthful exuberance’ and tried to make me see the responsibility that was mine to carry after him. I thought him overbearing and far too serious. It wasn’t until one evening, when I was sitting in on a petition, that I understood the duty of the Tar-Eldatur.

“There had been an excess of rain that year and many farmers had lost their crops. They came as one to Aicassë to petition the Tar-Eldatur. I sat at my father’s right hand, bored out of my mind and dreaming of being out in the woods to run and play. It wasn’t until I saw the farmers that my mind focused. They were miserable. Their clothing was frayed and full of mud and hung off their bony shoulders as rags. They were thin and gaunt and had travelled many miles to see my father. They looked upon their Tar-Eldatur as their last hope. Without him, they and their families would die. They had nothing. My father, the great king that he was, saw not only their struggles, but their hopelessness. And he embraced them. He stepped down from his chair and embraced each and every one of them, muddy rags and all, and each time the farmer stood taller and was renewed with vitality. They left standing tall and with a promise that not only would their families be fed, but the Tar-Eldatur himself would come to their homes to help mend the fields.

“It wasn’t until they left that my father collapsed. As Tar-Eldatur, my father was capable of great magic. In renewing those farmers, he gave them his strength, and a small part of himself. He did it for all, until there was barely enough strength left for himself. When I demanded to know why, he told me simply ‘the Eldar is the Tar-Eldatur’. I was young and foolish and he had scared me. He had risked his life, just to give those menial farmers hope. That night, I ran.”

Harry found himself collapsing back onto the grass as he listened to James’ story. He could feel James’ fear and uncertainty like it was his own, and perhaps it was.

“What did he mean, ‘the Eldar is the Tar-Eldatur’?” Harry asked quietly.

James laughed. “Damned if I know,” he replied, and the tension in the air broke. Harry found himself laughing too, though why, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps he just needed to laugh because the only other alternative was to cry some more and Harry was sure he had no more tears.

The laughed long and hard, James joining him on the grass of the meadow. When Harry could laugh no more they settled once more and Harry found himself simply enjoying his father’s presence, even if he wasn’t real.

Eventually the night began to change and Harry could see the sky lightening in the distance. The sun was preparing to rise and in that moment Harry knew that his time with James was almost done.

“Do you have to leave?” he asked forlornly.

“Unfortunately the night wanes and you are needed once more,” James replied. He reached over and took Harry’s hands in his own, squeezing them comfortingly. “But remember that I will never leave you. I have placed these memories in your mind and only you can access them. Should you need help, they are there to guide you.”

James stood, and smiled down on his son warmly.

“I am so very proud of you, Harry. You are strong and compassionate. You will make a great Tar-Eldatur. Certainly a better one than I ever could have been. Trust that when the time comes you will know what to do. Farewell for now, _yónya. Hara máriessë._ Stay in happiness.”

The first rays of the sunrise broke over the horizon and blinded Harry for a moment. When he raised his hands to shield his eyes, James was gone. Harry stared at the place where his father had stood just moments before and wondered if he had ever been there at all. He wondered until the sun was almost fully risen, before deciding that whether James had been there or not, he was there no longer. Harry now stood in a golden meadow, surrounded by tall ancient trees, once more alone. Only now, instead of feeling his loneliness, he felt the warmth of the sun and the promise of a new day. Carastar had given those farmers hope by giving a part of himself, and so James did to Harry. He still felt the weight of two worlds upon his shoulders, but he also felt his strength renewed. Perhaps, he might be able to withstand it.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

The world was growing darker. It wasn’t immediately obvious to most, but to those who knew the truth, the changes were palpable. It was like a heavy membrane had fallen over the Wizarding World that was holding the pressure in. There was an intensity around them, echoed in the actions of their families and friends, and that intensity was growing more and more each day, like the world was looking over the edge and bending its knees, preparing to jump off the precipice into chaos. Everyone who believed Harry and Dumbledore were preparing for the conflict to come. Those who didn’t hid their heads in the sand and forced themselves to believe that the storm clouds were not moving in.

Hermione and the Weasley family were no longer at the Burrow. It wasn’t safe until new wards were placed, which could take weeks. Each individual ward needed multiple casters, and the wards they intended to cast were so strong that they could only be cast one-by-one with days to rest and regenerate in between. Therefore in the meantime, the Weasleys lived in Headquarters.

Ron and Hermione had been surprised to find out that Ron’s parents and many other adults they were familiar with were part of a secret society pledged to see the end of Voldemort. It was called the Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore was its leader. Apparently the Order of the Phoenix had existed during the First Wizarding War, and while Ron’s parents hadn’t been part of it, Harry’s parents had, with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. The new Order of the Phoneix was different from the old one. Many of the older members had been killed during the fight, including Ron’s uncles Gideon and Fabian Prewitt and Harry’s parents. The new Order of the Phoenix relied on newer members, those who had either chosen to remain on the sidelines for the first war, or were too young to fight then. Ron and Hermione had already met Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius’s cousin who was an Auror and around Charlie Weasley’s age, and also Kingsley Shacklebolt, another Auror. To Ron’s intense disbelief and hatred, Professor Snape was also part of the new Order of the Phoenix.

“The slimy git is probably reporting everything they say back to You-Know-Who,” Ron growled, after they had failed yet again to listen into one of the Order meetings. They were staying at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, a nasty, dreary townhome in London that was owned by Sirius’s family for generations. Sirius had offered it to be used as Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix because it was already so well-warded and it was only a simple matter for Dumbledore to place a Fidelius Charm over the prior protections. Hermione wasn’t convinced it was the best place, and certainly it was not the safest to live in.

The house had been left abandoned after Sirius’s mother, Walburga Black, had died and left only the family’s house-elf Kreacher to stay behind and clean. Of course, Kreacher hadn’t done much cleaning. Rather he’d mainly listened to Walburga’s horrid portrait that hung in the stairs and took pleasure in insulting anyone who dared to venture into her house, including her own son. Not a day went by that someone didn’t set Mrs. Black off and the house was filled with her murderous screeches of “Filth! Blood-traitors and Mudbloods! Defiling the house of my fathers!” Sirius had tried to remove the portrait. Dumbledore had tried to remove it. Nothing seemed to make a difference and so they settled for drawing the curtains and tiptoeing up and down the stairs. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley had roped Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins into clean-up duty, attempting to make the rest of the house habitable again. It was slow and dangerous work. The house was prepared to fight back.

“Professor Snape is just as loyal as you or I,” Hermione insisted. “Professor Dumbledore trusts him.”

Ron scoffed. “Dumbledore didn’t even know Snape was one of those elf things. You think Snape can’t hide his loyalty too?”

Hermione frowned. “Well I trust him,” she declared at last. Even if she could agree he was a right foul git.

In the matter of the Eldar, Hermione had made little headway in the Ministry. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had held little more information than she’d already known. It seemed they hadn’t had any sort of interaction with the Eldar since the 1940s, and back then they had still called them “elves”. It was ignorance at its finest, and it frustrated Hermione to no end. It seemed the only source of knowledge of the Eldar remained to be Professor Snape, and the more she saw him coming and going for Order meetings, the more she was convinced she needed to try to ask him again. This time, though, she wouldn’t include Ron.

It wasn’t that Ron was uncaring. He cared for Harry a great deal. But to him, Harry was gone. To him Harry was far beyond their reach and there was nothing they could do for him here, so it didn’t make sense to keep trying with “this Eldar nonsense”. After the Ministry, Ron had counseled her to give up and to his eyes, she’d obliged. But Hermione wasn’t one to give up. And so she waited and bided her time. The problem was, Professor Snape never seemed to linger at Grimmauld Place. He always came just before the meeting was to start and left immediately afterwards, never staying for Molly’s invitation to supper like Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley. It was as if he somehow knew she wanted to speak to him, and so he made himself scarce. That, or it was the way that Sirius treated him. To be fair, Sirius did have a reason to hate Snape. Snape had been the one who took him into custody in their third year, and who’d been the most vocal supporter of Sirius being given the Dementor’s Kiss right away. Snape had also let slip that Lupin was a werewolf, costing him a desperately needed job. Often time Sirius was downright nasty to Snape, and Snape gave as well as he got.

One of the good points to Grimmauld Place, in Hermione’s opinion, was its library. Generations of Blacks had been adding to it for centuries, and while it contained more than a few texts on Dark magic, it also contained many other interesting volumes that Hermione was eager to get her hands on. She had to be careful, though. She’d already been bitten and stung by a few books in the library. A few also had wards on them to keep them out of reach of any witch or wizard who wasn’t a Pureblood. Those ones had fueled Hermione’s ire and she’d taken to trying her hand at cursebreaking. She didn’t have much prior experience, but interestingly enough, Sirius himself was proving most helpful.

It was he who found Hermione in the library, once more pouring over the same creature books, trying to find something that she’d missed before.

“Is there something you’re looking for in particular?”

Hermione jumped, not having heard his approach. Sirius grinned good-naturedly from the doorway, his hands folded across his chest. He looked far better than the few times Hermione had seen him during fourth year, when he’d been on the run and living out of a cave above Hogsmeade. He was clean, for one, and dressed in clothing that fit him. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be trying her hardest to “put some meat on his bones”, and she seemed to be having some success. He no longer looked thin and emaciated. The only indication of his time in Azkaban that remained were the dark circles under his eyes from restless sleep and the haunted look that would sometimes pass over his eyes.

“No,” Hermione replied, far too quickly. It was just that Dumbledore had first suggested that they keep Harry’s status as Tar-Eldatur to themselves as extra protection. Hermione didn’t agree that it should be kept from Sirius, but she would obey Dumbledore.

Sirius quirked an eyebrow. “Okay.” He turned and closed the door of the library behind him. Hermione watched with intense suspicion as Sirius warded the door behind him before taking a seat in one of the high-winged back chairs around the room.

“Now, are you sure you’re not looking for anything specific? It’s just you and me, and I promise whatever it is I can keep a secret.”

Hermione bit her lip and went back and forth in her mind whether she should tell him or not. He was Harry’s godfather. He deserved to know the truth. McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey knew the truth, or at least part of the truth. Sirius was Harry’s guardian.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione apologized. “But Dumbledore—“

“I know that Harry is an eldar.”

Sirius couldn’t have shocked her more than if he admitted to wearing pink tutus and going out clubbing every other weekend. At first she was stunned, but when her mind caught up once more it made sense. Sirius was Harry’s godfather, so Dumbledore must’ve told him. There was no way Sirius would’ve taken Harry’s “contagious illness” lying down. He would’ve been at Harry’s bedside, hell or high water.

“When did Professor Dumbledore tell you?” she asked.

“He didn’t,” Sirius replied simply. “I could guess easily enough when he tried to feed me some story about an illness.”

“But how could you have guessed? Nobody knew…”

“James knew.” Sirius smiled. “Do you honestly think I could be that close to someone for so long, and not know something so important? James was my brother, more than my biological brother. We told each other everything. I was there when James laid the enchantment on Harry to make him appear human. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. James always thought they’d come for him.”

“And you’re…okay with Harry just going?”

“Of course not! But he’s with them now. James told me about the Last Haven, the Eldar sanctuary. There is no way for a human to even go there, let alone get in.”

Hermione sighed heavily. Sirius only confirmed what others had told her too. But something in his words sparked her curiosity.

“James told you about the Eldar?”

Sirius gave her a knowing smirk. “Yes,” he replied simply.

“Do you think you could tell me?”

“No,” Sirius admitted. “I’m sorry, I swore a Wizard’s Oath to him that I wouldn’t tell anyone what he’d told me about the Eldar. They are a very private people and they don’t share their secrets with just anyone. James and I were blood-brothers before he would even tell me his Eldarin name.”

Hermione’s face fell as her hopes were dashed. Here stood a source of information almost as good as Snape, but once more she was barred from it, this time by loyalty. It was frustrating, but Hermione wasn’t going to push. A Wizard’s Oath was serious and could be extremely dangerous if it was broken. Hermione would never put Sirius in that sort of position.

“Well, if you have any books or sources that might help…”

“I promised James I wouldn’t _tell_ anyone, but not that I wouldn’t show anyone. We were kids then and the wording of the Wizard’s Oath wasn’t all that specific. If we can get hold of a pensieve, I can show you the memories, and then I wouldn’t be telling you and you could still get the information you are looking for.”

Hermione was uncertain though. “Are you sure it won’t break your oath?”

“I’m the one who swore the oath. Trust me, I know its boundaries. Remus might be able to get us a pensieve. I have some funds stashed away in a few places.”

“Does Remus know?”

Sirius shrugged. “Who knows? It’s not something we talk about. Lily knew, but I didn’t discuss it with her and she didn’t discuss it with me. Remus is smart, but the Eldar are something completely different. They’re not exactly in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.”

“Won’t he be suspicious of what you want the pensieve for?”

Sirius’ expression darkened. “No,” he assured her. “Remus knows that I…well let’s just say Azkaban wasn’t the greatest place in the world and it tends to leave a lasting mark. Remus won’t mind if he thinks it will help.”

Hermione could tell Sirius was already planning how he’d get his hands on a pensieve and part of her was happy to see him enthusiastic about something. He’d been rather morose since Hermione and the others had arrived. Perhaps it was because Harry wasn’t there, but Hermione thought it was more to do with his self-inflicted house arrest. Sirius was still a wanted man and the Ministry would occasionally splash his mug-shot across the front page of the Daily Prophet, usually as a way to describe some disappearance or suspicious accident that was typically the fault of You-Know-Who. Dumbledore confined both him and Buckbeak to Grimmauld Place. Buckbeak, Hermione knew, was on the third floor in his own bedroom and often times Sirius would disappear up there for hours.

It was nice to see Sirius with a plan and purpose, and the wizard was obviously happy for it. But most of all, Hermione was simply glad to have an alternative. She wouldn’t have to try to corner Snape after an Order meeting to try to wheedle information from him. She wanted to tell Ron about Sirius, but something stopped her. Honestly, since they’d left Hogwarts, Ron had shown a waning interest in finding out about the Eldar, and more than a few times he’d urged Hermione to forget about it too, writing it off as a lost cause. Would Ron truly be interested in Sirius’ memories?

She didn’t know. It’s possible with such a reliable source, but then again maybe he’d prefer to just forget that his best friend was an eldar. Maybe Ron just hoped that when Harry finally returned he would just be Harry again and they would pick up from where they left off. Hermione had hoped that too, in the beginning. But the more she read, the more she came to realize, Professor Snape had been right. His words may have been cruel and designed to push her away at the time, but he was right. Harry would never be “just Harry” again. When he returned, he wouldn’t be human, he’d be an eldar. He’d be different.

 

It didn’t take too long to procure a pensieve. They were rather rare magical objects, but “having some funds stashed away” by Sirius Black’s standards meant hundreds of thousands of Galleons kept in bank accounts that weren’t registered to him so the Ministry didn’t know to freeze them. Remus, thinking that Sirius needed the pensieve for his own reflection, was quick to search one down and so it was only about two weeks before Hermione and Sirius were once again in the library with the door locked and warded and a round, stone basin sitting on the wooden table between them. It was empty currently, but Sirius was already drawing his wand to his temple and pulling out long silvery memories to place in the shallow basin. Hermione was nervous and excited all at once. She was eager to see what Sirius knew, but she was also uncertain. She’d never watched someone else’s memories before. Harry had told her about it, once when he’d accidentally looked into the Headmaster’s pensieve and witnessed the trial of Barty Crouch Jr. He’d described it as rather strange and a bit unnerving.

At last Sirius finished removing memories. In the basin was a sizeable collection, all swirling around on each other. Sirius stirred it with his wand tip, bringing a particular memory up to the top.

“Have you ever used one of these before?” he asked.

“No,” Hermione admitted. “Though Harry did once, in the Headmaster’s office. I’ve read about the mechanics.”

Sirius nodded. “Alright, well don’t try to hold your breath,” he counseled.

“Thanks,” Hermione replied, before she plunged face-first into the first memory.

She was on the grounds of Hogwarts amongst the trees down by the Black Lake. Technically this was part of the Forbidden Forest, but it was day time and Hermione could admit to sometimes venturing into this part of the forest herself with Harry and Ron before. Only Harry and Ron were nowhere around. Instead, just on the other side of a large tree, was a young Sirius Black and James Potter.

Sirius was sprawled out on the ground among the roots while James was perched up in the branches of the tree, moving about with such nimble grace that one almost forgot he was standing on a swaying branch. Laughing, James jumped off the branch, turned a somersault, and landed on his feet with barely a rustle right in front of Sirius.

“Looking to join the circus?” Sirius teased, lazily swiping at James’ legs to off balance him. James skipped out of the way, laughing and taunting him. He was up the tree again in an instant, climbing like he’d been born in the treetops.

“Come on, slow-poke!” he called down.

Sirius growled, jumping to his feet and starting to climb after him, though not half as graceful or economical as James had. Sirius’ shoes slipped on the bark as he clambered higher and higher, trying to chase James who had flitted all the way to the topmost branches.

“Well look at that!” James shouted. “Something the amazing Sirius Black _can’t_ do!”

“When I get up there, you are so getting it!” Sirius shouted back. He jumped up for the next branch, but it was too weak and it snapped.

“Sirius!” James yelled as Sirius fell. He was too high up and was sure to break his arm or leg, but in the last moment before he hit the ground, the branches of the trees swooped down and caught him, laying him gently among the leaves before returning to their prior position. From above James was frozen, his arms reaching out. When the branches returned to normal he relaxed, hopping down to check on his friend.

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently.

“Ow, yeah,” Sirius muttered. “Hit my head though.” He felt around the back of his head where a decent knot was forming. He winced as he prodded it.

“Here,” James said, and he reached around to the knot, placing his hands over it. There was a flare of pure white magic and it was clear Sirius’ pain was gone instantly.

“Whoa! How did you do that?”

James shrugged. “It was nothing,” he insisted. “Come on, let’s go.”

He helped Sirius to his feet, but it was clear the young Sirius wasn’t falling for James’ excuse.

“Really, what was that? We haven’t learned healing charms yet, and you didn’t even use your wand.”

James stopped, turning to Sirius. “Just don’t mention it, okay?” James told him, his voice dropping.

“Not until you tell me what you did.”

“I healed you. It’s just something I’ve always been able to do, but I don’t do it a lot because it’s hard and tiring.”

It was easy to see the fatigue in James. Where before he was lively and full of boisterous energy, now his expression looked strained and his shoulders sagged. He looked like he could use a nap. Sirius recognized these signs and nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he agreed.

“Okay,” James replied.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

The sun had risen, and still Harry stayed in the meadow where he’d found himself the night before. It was peaceful and quiet, and perfect for Harry to focus on the memories that his father had imprinted in his mind when he was still an infant.

After the encounter with his James’ memory, it was like a hidden wall had been knocked down in Harry’s mind. All sorts of information came flooding to his attention; information he hadn’t even known was in his mind, much less locked away by his father. It was all there. Eldarin words no longer seemed so foreign and the script he’d struggled with under Nyarmo’s patient tutoring was as familiar as the letters of his own name. At first the flood of information had hurt and Harry’s head ached like someone was trying to stuff too many things into his skull at once. He started fidgeting, but that fidgeting soon turned into full out pacing. And when pacing wasn’t enough, he picked up a branch from beneath the trees at the edge of the meadow and began practicing his sword-play. At first he performed the basic sequences Ornon and Alassë had taught him in their training sessions. He lunged and parried faster each time, adding more flourishes and difficult combinations until Harry paused, panting heavily and realized he’d performed a sequence he’d only seen Alassë accomplish once without faltering. Grinning as confidence bloomed in his heart, he turned and executed the sequence again, just as perfectly as the first time.

More and more memories came to him, of history, magic, etiquette, everything that would be necessary to the Tar-Eldatur. With each new wave of understanding, Harry’s head felt like it was both squeezed in a clamp and stretched like a latex balloon about to pop. The only way to ease the pressure was to swing harder and step faster and work out all of his energy until he was panting and his legs were like jelly, barely able to keep him upright. When he finally collapsed on the ground, his arms out wide, he was dizzy and giddy and laughing like he belonged in the loony bin.

“ _What has you so excited?_ ”

Harry jumped at the unexpected voice and it took him an extra second to realize that he’d been spoken to in Eldarin and had understood it as easily as he did English and Parseltongue. He spun in the direction of the voice, but didn’t see anyone.

“ _Who’s there?_ ” he called back, the Eldarin words flowing off his tongue with the same lyrical quality that he’d heard from Sailano and Nyarmo. Harry marveled at the sound and wondered how the words had felt so clunky just a day ago. Eldarin was beautiful, and not at all like English.

“ _Nobody of importance_ ,” the voice replied, almost sounding bored. “ _Who are you_?”

“Nobody of importance,” Harry retorted as he moved towards the trees where he thought the voice was coming from. He was almost to the tree line when a young, male eldar fell from the canopy, landing without a sound right in front of him. Harry jumped back automatically and the young eldar smirked.

“Good. If you’re nobody of importance, then nobody will miss you for a few hours.”

Harry was taken aback by the eldar’s abrupt candor and he bristled at his attitude. But he was also curious. The eldar wore a brown and green tunic with a bow slung over his shoulder and his long blonde hair was bound in a simple plait. When he shifted, the shadows moved over his tunic and hid him even though he stood plainly before Harry.

“Who are you?” Harry asked.

The eldar surveyed Harry’s simple clothing that was caked with dirty and stuck to his back with sweat. His eyes missed nothing from Harry’s toes to the tip of his head and pointed ears and Harry couldn’t help but shift his weight, uncomfortable with such a close level of scrutiny from someone whose name he didn’t even know.

Either he must’ve decided that Harry seemed trustworthy, or perhaps he came to the conclusion that Harry truly wasn’t of any importance.

“I’m Hrávon.”

“Har—Haldanár.” Harry would have put out his hand for a handshake, but he knew now that was not the way to greet a fellow eldar. Instead he inclined his head slightly, both a gesture of good-faith and respect for one he’d never met before. Hrávon mimicked Harry’s nod out of protocol.

“Haldanár,” Hrávon repeated. “You’re new here, and you speak the human language better than anyone born in an eldar town. Where’d you come from?”

“Er—England.”

“Part of a travelling clan?”

Harry shrugged, not really sure what Hrávon meant.

“I was too, until some wizards caught up to us. Now I’m here.”

“Er…wizards. Right.”

“Haven’t had any run-ins with them, have you?”

“Can’t say I have recently.” It wasn’t a lie. He’d been away from Hogwarts for some time already.

“Well watch out for them. They like to attack at night, and they’re ruthless. If you go out into the human world, keep your bow strung.” Hrávon patted the full quiver of arrows at his back.

“I’ll remember that. So, do you know how to get back to the town?”

Hrávon snorted. “Wouldn’t be much of a good scout if I didn’t, would I? But how did you get out here if you don’t know your way back?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s a long story. Anyways, I was just practicing.” He waved the branch in his hand and then felt stupid compared to the bow Hrávon carried.

Hrávon eyed the branch with amusement. “I can see that. I never really cared for the sword. But you looked pretty good.”

“Thanks. It’s quiet up here. Peaceful. It helps me concentrate better.”

Hrávon snorted. “You mean you don’t like Ornon breathing down your neck and telling you how worthless you are?”

“Only on Tuesdays,” Harry replied.

Hrávon let out a raucous guffaw and it reminded Harry of Sirius’ barking laugh. He’d only heard it a few times before but the memory brought a pang of homesickness to Harry’s gut.

“I like you, kid,” Hrávon declared, slinging an arm over Harry’s shoulder. “Why don’t we make a deal? You walk with me and help me flush out some supper, and I’ll lead you back to Métimalondë. We’ll both be back well before sundown.”

Harry felt guilty, knowing that he really should try to return straight away. He’d left Nyarmo in the middle of the lesson. It had been wholly by accident, but still. Roimon and Sailano were probably looking for him, thinking the worst; that he’d disappeared like his father before him.

But Hrávon was different. He was the first eldar that Harry had met that hadn’t treated him with deference or disdain.

“What do I do?” Harry asked.

Hrávon raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never been hunting before?”

“No,” Harry admitted sheepishly.

Hrávon grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you. Here.” He put a rock in Harry’s hand as he drew an arrow from his quiver. He gestured to a thicket just inside the trees. “See that bush over there? Hit it.”

Uncertainly, Harry hefted the rock and chucked it at the base of the bush. In an instant a flock of gray birds took off. Hrávon’s bowstring twanged three times and three birds fell dead with arrows through their heads. Harry’s head shot around and he gaped at Hrávon as the eldar removed a game bag from his belt and collected his kills.

“You’re fast,” Harry stammered at last.

“Three is slow for me,” Hrávon replied. “But there’s still plenty more. Come on, I think I saw some fresh scat along the game trail back there. We might be able to catch up with it.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Gross,” he muttered, but he jogged to catch up to Hrávon anyways, a smile breaking across his face.

“How did you know there were birds in that bush?” he asked.

“Because I’m a scout,” Hrávon replied with amusement. “Tracking, hunting, foraging, skulking, that’s all I do.”

“Can you teach me?”

Hrávon paused and for the first time he seemed confused. “Why would you want to learn any of that? Judging by your sword-play you’re training to be a guardian, right? Guardians don’t need to worry about any of that stuff.”

Harry didn’t want to correct him. Instead he just shrugged. “Maybe it will come in handy?”

Hrávon laughed. “Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll teach you. Here’s your first lesson. Tell me how fresh that poop is.” He pointed to a small pile of dung just ahead along an almost invisible trail Harry hadn’t seen until then.

“Er, how do I do that?”

Hrávon grinned. “You feel it. If it’s still steaming, the deer isn’t too far away.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You wanted to learn about tracking.”

Harry and Hrávon did eventually track down a doe and Hrávon put a clean arrow through her head. Along the way Harry learned about every sign they came across, from tracks to rubs, and even how to identify sources of food and water. After Hrávon’s initial reluctance, he seemed happy to pass on his knowledge to Harry and despite all of the information he’d gained that morning, Harry’s mind soaked up the new lessons. It was almost too soon when the two of them emerged from the woods and Harry spotted Métimalondë down by the harbor below. The sun was setting once more and they’d spent the day together. Hrávon’s game bag was full and he’d slung the doe over his shoulder to take to the butcher.

“I suppose this is where we part ways, guardian,” Hrávon said.

“I’m not a guardian,” Harry replied. He’d been saying the same thing for the last two hours, but Hrávon didn’t seem to believe him.

“Sure. If you want to do this again, I go hunting every four days or so. Meet me in the meadow.”

Harry thought back to their route and figured he could probably find his way back. “Alright,” he nodded.

“Ornon is a prick, by the way. Don’t pay attention to him. I never do and I’m doing just fine.”

Harry grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind. Goodbye, Hrávon.”

“Until next time, Haldanár.”

Harry waited until Hrávon was around the corner and out of sight before he began to make his way through the neighborhood to Sailano’s home. Along the way he saw other eldar and he smiled and nodded to them, murmuring a simple greeting in Eldarin. To his surprise, they returned the greeting genially, and a few asked after his health. When he came back to Sailano’s street he saw Veryë out, playing with a ball. She spotted him immediately and ran up, tugging on his sleeve.

“ _Are you the Tar-Eldatur?_ ” she asked simply.

The first reply that came to Harry’s mind was “No.” But then he thought of his encounter with his father and the words he remembered from Carastar, “The Eldar is the Tar-Eldatur”. He didn’t know what it meant any more than James had, but he had the feeling that when he did, that is when he would truly be Tar-Eldatur.

He smiled down at the little girl. “ _Not yet,_ ” he replied gently.

Veryë looked up at him with wide blue eyes and she seemed to understand. She held up the ball in her hands.

“ _Will you play with me?_ ”

Harry grinned, taking the ball. “ _For a little bit, and then I have to go home._ ”

“ _My name is Veryë_.”

“ _Haldanár_.”

“ _You will be a good Tar-Eldatur, Haldanár_.”

And so they played catch and tag and little Veryë’s delighted squeals echoed through the streets, attracting on-lookers and a few who asked to play too. It was to this scene that Sailano and Roimon returned, having been scouring the city all day looking for Harry. They found him in a group of people, laughing as he and a few other eldar chased little Veryë around in circles as the little one squealed and clutched a ball in her hands.

Roimon moved to break into the game but Sailano stopped him.

“But my Lord,” Roimon protested.

“He is in no danger,” Sailano assured the guardian. He watched and laughed with the crowd as Harry finally caught the little girl and hoisted her up onto his shoulders to parade around the street victorious. The crowd cheered before it slowly began to disperse and Harry lowered Veryë to the ground again. It was then that Roimon and Sailano stepped forward. Harry spotted them and the smile fell from his face. He placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head.

“ _Ánillo avatyarë, Heru Sailano_ ,” Harry said. “ _I was overcome._ ”

Sailano reached forward and took the hand from Harry’s chest, a sign of forgiveness. “ _You have returned. My heart sings to see you safe once more._ ”

Veryë reached up to tug on Sailano’s overcoat. Sailano knelt down to face her, looking very serious for what she was about to say.

“ _Haldanár will be a good Tar-Eldatur_ ,” Veryë declared.

Harry smiled, as did Sailano.

“ _Yes, I think you’re right_ ,” Sailano agreed.

 

Coming out of a pensieve was like breaking the surface of the ocean after a long, deep dive into its cold depths. Hermione took a greedy breath, grabbing the sides of the table until she recovered her head. Harry hadn’t mentioned how a pensieve could draw you into the memory and make you forget that it wasn’t your reality.

“Easy,” Sirius said, taking her arm to steady her.

“I’m alright,” Hermione assured him. Her breathing was returning to normal and her sense of balance evened out enough for Hermione to stand upright again. “You have very poignant memories.”

Sirius shrugged. “They were all I had for a while,” he said softly. “I found myself grasping to them, especially the ones about James. Those were always the strongest at keeping the cold away.”

“Did you know then, when he healed you?”

“No, definitely not. There are so few that know about the Eldar, and I grew up in a Dark family. If there are any books in this library about the Firstborn, it’s because I put them there. They are very firmly of the Light.”

“When did you find out then?”

Sirius frowned. “I’ll have to show you that memory. It’s definitely not one I can talk about.”

He stepped around the table and scooped up the first pensieve memory, returning it to his temple. As the silver liquid was absorbed back into Sirius’ mind, he seemed to relax and a small smile came across his face as he obviously relived a cherished memory. It only lasted a moment though as the next second he was drawing the next memory from his mind and his expression strained as new wisps of silver attached themselves to his wand point. They floated across the expanse before settling in the pensieve. Sirius swirled the surface carefully, bringing the new memory to the front.

“Just keep a few things in mind. My animagus form is a dog, because like a dog I can be very loyal, but I can also be very determined. James and Remus would call it stubborn. When I was younger, I also had a big mouth. James was right not to trust me with his secret right away. This memory is coming after years of wheedling and off-handed comments. I’m surprised Remus wasn’t suspicious too. Or maybe he was and James already confided in him, I don’t know. Just remember that, okay?”

Hermione looked at the memory uncertainly. What was she going to see, if Sirius felt compelled to already be offering excuses?

“Alright,” she agreed. She once more squared herself to the pensieve, being sure to place herself in a comfortable, solid stance, before she took a deep breath and plunged back into the pensieve.

She stood in the Great Hall of Hogwarts and it was noontime. The hall was buzzing with activity and at first Hermione thought she had returned to school and she’d look over to the Gryffindor table to see Harry and Ron at a game of Wizard’s chess rather than studying as they ought to be. But she didn’t see her two best friends. Rather, just at the end of the table she saw his spitting image, sitting across from a younger version of the Sirius Black she’d just left behind and Remus Lupin with fewer scars and less gray hair.

Judging by their appearance, she’d say she was observing their fourth or fifth year. Remus was diligently working on some sort of essay while James and Sirius sat across from each other and Pettigrew on their other side. It was clear that there was some sort of disagreement between the two of them. James was purposefully ignoring Sirius, while Sirius kept shooting expectant looks James’ way. Either Remus was completely oblivious, or he was choosing to focus on his own work instead. He looked drawn, with deep circles under his eyes and a weariness to his posture. As he shifted, he stiffened, obviously pained by some unseen injury. Hermione had known Lupin long enough to recognize the signs following a transformation. It must’ve happened just the night before.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Moony?” James asked, concerned for his friend.

“I’m fine,” Remus assured them, though Hermione could plainly see neither of the other Marauders believed him.

“James could heal that,” Sirius suggested, looking pointedly at James. “Couldn’t you Jamesy? You’re good at all sorts of spells. You know he once healed my head when I fell out of a tree?”

“I think you’ve mentioned that before,” James replied tersely. Everything about his tone was a warning, but Sirius seemed determined to continue.

“He didn’t even need a wand,” Sirius added, and this drew Remus’ attention.

“You can do wandless magic?” he asked curiously.

“Not really,” James shrugged. “My mum taught me a basic healing charm when I was little.”

“That can heal a concussion?” Sirius asked, smirking.

“ _Padfoot_ ,” James growled.

“Yes Prongs?” Sirius asked innocently.

“Can I talk to you a moment?” He didn’t wait for Sirius to reply, but stood and strode from the Great Hall.

Sirius sighed heavily. “His Lordship summons,” he said, leaving a rather confused Remus and Pettigrew.

Hermione followed James and Sirius out of the Great Hall and onto the grounds. James was walking quickly, ignoring all of the other students while Sirius seemed to be taking his good old time, waving and winking at every girl he passed along the way. When they finally came to stop again, they were once more at the tree just inside the Forbidden Forest where Hermione had first seen a glimpse of James’ secret.

“Now, what did you wa—“

Sirius didn’t get the words out. In a flash James spun and pinned him up against the tree. Hermione saw a flash of fear in Sirius’ eyes as he instinctively grabbed James’ hands that were holding up him against the tree trunk. He had good reason to fear too. James’ eyes burned with a fire and his face was contorted in anger.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” James demanded through gritted teeth. “I _asked_ you to keep it a secret, and you go off spouting to Moony and Wormtail and everybody in bloody Gryffindor!”

By now Sirius had recovered himself. He grabbed James’ hands and shoved the other boy off. He pushed with all his might, but Hermione got the feeling that James _let_ him push him away.

“What secret?” Sirius demanded. “You have some big, hidden thing, but you won’t tell any of us about it. Moony bloody told us!”

“We figured it out,” James replied.

“Do you want me to start following you so I can find out for myself? Because I will. I thought we were brothers.” Sirius held up his palm where Hermione could clearly see a silvery-white scar across his life-line. She knew that James bore a similar one. They had performed a blood bonding.

“Brothers tell each other everything,” Sirius declared. He stared at James, palm in the air and dared him to refuse him. He stood there, beneath the tree where he’d first learned something was different about his closest friend, and desperately prayed that he wouldn’t be rebuked.

James’ eyes only left the line on Sirius’ palm to look at the identical one on his own. Hermione knew Harry well enough to guess the thoughts that were running through his father’s mind. James and Harry shared a strong sense of family, and a yearning for it, and if the father was anything like the son, Hermione knew James would not risk losing his brother.

“Alright,” he agreed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “But you have to swear.”

“I won’t tell,” Sirius was already declaring.

“No,” James said. “That’s not good enough. You have to swear an oath that what I tell you, you will never speak of to another soul. It’s not just about me.”

Sirius was obviously even more confused, but his loyalty and curiosity would win out. He took out his wand as did James and together they clasped hands.

“I swear on my oath as a wizard and on the magic within my blood that I will not speak a word of what James Potter confides in me this day. So I declare, so mote it be.”

There was a brilliant flash of light that arched from their wands and spiraled around their clasped hands before sinking into their skin. Hermione knew enough about wizard oaths to recognize one when she saw it. She also understood now why Sirius could not speak of the Eldar, but could show her. The wording of the oath was rather vague, but it obviously satisfied James. He muttered “ _Muffliato_ ” and the two of them sat down at the base of the tree.

If Hermione had been trying to eavesdrop on their conversation at the time, she would’ve only heard a ringing in her ears and their speech would’ve been impossible to make out. But she wasn’t eavesdropping in the traditional sense. This was Sirius’ memory, and so she heard every word like she was sitting right next to James.

“What do you want to know?” James asked.

“How did you heal me without using a wand?”

“Healing is a common skill in my family. And anyone can do wandless magic. It’s instinctual. You have to want some result badly enough. That’s how kids can do accidental magic without wands.”

Sirius frowned. “My… _mother_ made sure I knew everything there was to know about all of the Pureblood houses. The Potters aren’t known for healing. Transfiguration, maybe, but not healing.”

James sighed heavily, his fingers running through the grass at his feet. “I’m not a Potter by birth.”

Sirius’ eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Had his mother been there she would’ve spat something about how Blacks don’t gawk like common Mud-bloods, or some other such nonsense.

“What do you mean? You were adopted?”

“Sort of,” James replied. “Charlus and Dorea were too old to have kids and they needed an heir. I needed a family. They blood-adopted me when I was nine.”

“So are you an orphan? Where’s your family?”

“My father is very much alive, but he doesn’t live in England. He lives in Aicassë.”

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t understand. Start from the beginning. Who are you?”

James pulled himself upright and Hermione was surprised in the change in him. He sat cross-legged in the grass but he didn’t look like a fifteen year-old boy anymore. She could easily see the charisma and regal bearing of one who was raised to rule. When he passed his hand over his face and his features softened until he looked just as Harry had when Sailano broke the glamour.

“My name when I was born was Yalmëtur. My father is Carastar Builder, the Tar-Eldatur, the King, of the Minnónar, which are most commonly referred to as ‘High Elves’.”

Sirius attempted to speak a number of times as the silence stretched between them. When at last he did, Hermione couldn’t help but notice how similar his reaction was to Ron’s.

“You’re a bloody elf?”


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

“Roimon?”

“Yes, Tárnya?”

“What is a travelling clan?”

Roimon frowned and stopped. They were walking through the city towards the training grounds for Harry’s first lesson back from his short holiday. Harry stopped to, not expecting such a reaction from his normally stoic guardian.

“Where did you hear that term?”

“Passing in the street,” Harry lied. He knew there was no reason he should be lying, but something in his heart wanted to keep his and Hrávon’s meeting private. “What is it?”

“They. The Travelling Clans are a group of eldar. When Carastar ruled, they chose instead of living in one of the eldar cities to live among the humans as gypsies, never remaining in one place for long. They often returned for feast days, but mostly they remained away and lived by their own governing. Carastar never seemed to mind, but there were some on the Council who saw their ways as rebellion against the Tar-Eldatur and the Balance.”

Harry was confused. “But why? If they just wanted to live as nomads, why did anyone care?”

“Because they put the rest of the eldar at risk. They live and associate closely with humans. They’re also known for being wild and rowdy, as well as fickle and unpredictable. When Aicassë fell, Carastar asked the Travelling Clans to return to aid in the city’s defenses. But they refused and it is because of them that Aicassë fell.”

“But, then they must’ve survived Voldemort’s attack.”

“Yes, at first. But Voldemort’s followers quickly began to pick them off. Their nomadic lives meant it was harder for the Death Eaters to find them, but easier to dispatch once found.”

“Are there any travelling clans left?”

“Some. Many have chosen to give up those ways and return to Métimalondë where our walls can protect them. May I ask, Tárnya, where you heard of them?”

Harry tried to brush the subject away. “Just in passing. Someone was talking about another, saying he was from a travelling clam.”

“I urge you to be cautious of eldar from the travelling clans,” Roimon said, his voice low and tense. “They are not ones to be trusted, and certainly not ones to have at your back in a battle. They are just as likely to fight as to run.”

Roimon painted a bleak picture of the travelling clans, and yet Harry couldn’t reconcile it with his own opinions and observations of Hrávon the day before. True, Hrávon had seemed rather erratic at times, but Harry didn’t mind and he’d been faithful where it counted, as they chased and caught supper.

Still, Harry nodded. “Thank you for clarifying, Roimon,” he said. “We should get going. I don’t particularly want to run laps because I was late after missing training the day before.”

Roimon chuckled. “I daresay Ornon would have both our heads if that were the case.”

They weren’t late, but Ornon still wasn’t happy about the fact that Harry skipped out on training the day before. To atone for his absence, he had to run an extra two laps today and Harry was still tired, but he did notice that it wasn’t the same bone-weary tiredness he’d felt the first day. Slowly, his body was adjusting. He could see some difference, in his arms and back. He had never in his life been fat like Dudley, nor had he had much muscle like Viktor Krum. Mostly he’d been small and thin, but that thinness was beginning to fill out and new muscle rippled just beneath the skin as he hefted his sword and drew his bow. And today, thanks to James’ memories, the movements felt natural. He shot an almost perfect score today in his archery practice.

“I suppose even a _blind_ squirrel finds a nut eventually,” Alassë commented. But the next set was just as good and by the time they finished with the bow, she’d gone very quiet and kept looking at him out of the corner of her eye, to the point that she almost missed the target herself. After a brief rest they took up their training swords and stepped into a sparring circle.

When Harry first began, the wooden sword had felt awkward in his hands and he’d dropped it more times than he would ever admit. Now the carved hilt felt almost like his wand, smooth and familiar, and his fingers instinctively found their places wrapped round the grip. He settled into his stance with confidence this time, sure that the outcome of this fight would be different from every other before it.

As always, Alassë attacked first, but Harry knew what she was going to do. He couldn’t say how, perhaps it was the step of her foot or the angle of her arm, but he brought his sword up with plenty of time to parry the overhead attack. Then he knew that she would try to follow it up with a lower attack, simply because that was the appropriate pattern, and so he blocked that too. As the fight continued, Harry parried and struck with speed and accuracy and an innate knowledge of how attacks and defenses flowed into each other. He still ended up with the tip of Alassë’s wooden sword at his throat, but this time she too was panting and she glared at him with suspicion.

“How did you learn that?” she demanded.

Harry pulled himself off the ground, not even bothering to brush his clothes off. He’d just end up down in the dirt again later.

“What are you talking about? I’ve been training with you.”

But Alassë shook her head vehemently. “I never taught you those moves.”

Once more Harry didn’t know why he didn’t want to tell Alassë the truth of James’ memories. Perhaps it was his own pride, or a desire to keep his last remaining connection to his father private. Whatever it was forced the lie from Harry’s lips.

“I don’t know, I just made it up I guess,” he retorted. “I stopped thinking about everything and just did it.”

It was a stupid excuse and Alassë could see right through it, Harry was sure. But to his surprise she didn’t call him on it or demand a better explanation.

“You’re stance was too deep and your arms were too rigid for that combination,” she said at last. “You want to stay on your toes so you can move quickly, and if you’re arms are loose until the moment of impact, you’ll save strength and be able to adjust if your opponent does something unexpected.”

Harry was shocked. It was the first time Alassë had offered specific advice that seemed designed to help him. Before she’d always just berate him for his clumsiness or make a snide comment about how he’d never be half the swordsman he needed to be to catch up to the others. He almost asked her to repeat it again, but then thought better of it. In truth, she’d more likely shove her practice sword up his arse than say something that might be considered decent to him again. As they moved back to their starting positions, Harry thought about her suggestions and filed them away. He’d try them of course; he would be a fool to ignore Alassë’s advice. They squared off again and at once sprang into action.

Harry tried to stay light on his feet and he tried to keep his body loose, but it was easier said than done. Even with the memories from his father, Harry was on the defensive more times than not. Alassë drove at him hard and Harry tried to keep his feet moving, but he stepped back off-balance and his heel caught on a stone. He fell, but rather than lying flat on the ground, he twisted, rolling with the impact and trying to regain his feet. It was no use though. Alassë had her sword at his throat again the next heartbeat.

“Dead,” she declared, smirking.

Growling in annoyance, Harry batted the sword away and rose.

“I tripped.”

“Pay attention to your surroundings.”

“I know!” Harry snapped.

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“I’m trying, alright?”

“Not hard enough. At this rate, we’ll be 80 before you can beat me.”

Harry muttered an Eldarin insult under his breath, one he knew had come from James.

“I heard that!” Alassë called back as she returned to the start for possibly the hundredth time that day. “Let’s go. Again.”

“I’m tired,” Harry groused.

“ _Ata_!” Again!

Harry’s ire grew as he stomped back to the start position and took up his stance again. Once more, like every spar before it, Alassë attacked first, pushing Harry back. He fumed as he frantically parried, trying to keep Alassë at bay. He tried to let his mind clear and let the memories of sword-fighting come to the front but all he could think about was how unfair it all was. How was he supposed to learn anything if all he did was get beat up? How was he to improve if all his partner did was beat him and insult him?

Harry’s rage grew and he started attacking more, meeting Alassë strike for strike. Through the red haze that had fallen over his eyes, he vaguely registered that she was surprised by the voracity of his swings, but he didn’t ease up. He was done being someone’s practice dummy. He wasn’t getting anymore bruises. He cut and swiped and the movements came without bidding. Alassë threw in a quick strike but he batted it aside like a Beater with a stray bludger. His feet stepped surely, his strikes held power, but lacked precision, swinging wildly at times in his rage. Alassë capitalized, darting inside his arms to tap him on the ribs and shin.

“Stop!” Harry screamed with a mighty sweep of his sword.

Except this time it was different. Power coursed through his veins. He hadn’t noticed it building, but it burned in his arms and in that moment exploded from his sword in a great wave that knocked Alassë and everyone within a twenty foot radius on their backs.

Harry stared at the destruction before him in shock. He’d devastated a row of practice dummies, the splinters hitting the eldar who had been using them. Alassë herself had been thrown some distance and was lying prone with her sword a few feet away. Even Roimon, who had been seated out of the way under a tree had been knocked back and was only just recovering. Harry looked around him and his shock turned to dread and horror. Slowly those around him began to stir. Roimon was the first to reach him.

“ _Tárnya_ , are you injured?”

“N-no,” Harry stuttered.

“What happened?” Ornon demanded, arriving at the scene with two other eldar. They immediately fanned out and checked on the warriors who had been attacked. Harry could see one who had a large wooden splinter embedded in his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Alassë—“

He gestured to the eldar who was unconscious. Ornon hurried to her side, kneeling to check her breathing. Harry was more tentative to approach.

“Is she okay?”

She looked paler than he’d ever seen her and her leg rested at a strange, unnatural angle. Ornon listened to her heart and he seemed at least relieved by what he heard.

“She’s alive,” he said bitterly. He turned and grabbed Harry by the tunic, pulling him close. “Look at her! Remember this sight.”

Roimon placed his hand on his sword, stepping closer to intervene, but Ornon held up a hand and he halted, seemingly unsure whether he should protect his Tar-Eldatur, or obey his Herumacil.

Harry’s eyes swept Alassë’s unconscious body and over the field where other eldar lie injured, some seriously. All because of him.

“This is what happens when you do not control yourself,” Ornon spat, not letting up even as tears came to Harry’s eyes. “This is what happens when you let your anger rule you. You hurt those you are meant to protect. Alassë may never fight again, thanks to _you_!” He practically threw Harry away and the only reason Harry didn’t fall was because Roimon was there to catch him.

Ornon lay his hand across Alassë’s forehead, murmuring soft words in Eldarin.

“ _Auta_! Do not return until you have learned control.”

And the Ornon turned his back on Harry and Roimon shepherded him away from the training grounds, leaving his wooden sword lying in the grass.

“I didn’t mean to…” Harry looked back but Roimon didn’t let him stop.

Harry barely noticed the walk about to Sailano’s home; all he could see was Alassë on the ground and the eldar with the splinter in his shoulder, his face full of pain. That was Harry’s fault. Narwien met them at the door and one look at Harry had her calling for her father. They brought him inside and sat him down at the table, for which Harry was grateful. He hadn’t noticed it at the field, but now away from the chaos his legs struggled to support him and he felt like someone had vanished all the bones in his body. He slumped down into the chair heavily.

Sailano hurried into the kitchen from his office and took in the scene before him coolly before turning to Roimon.

“What happened?” he asked, though his tone was far from the commanding growl Ornon had used.

“The Tar-Eldatur was sparring with his training partner,” Roimon said confidently. “Alassë was…not simplifying her attacks. The Tar-Eldatur became angry and frustrated and…” He trailed off, looking down at Harry uncertainly.

“Go on,” Sailano urged.

“I believe the Tar-Eldatur drew on his magic offensively during the practice match out of anger.”

Sailano’s expression hardened and Harry could tell there was something more to the incident. He had performed accidental magic before. There were loads of times when he’d been living with the Dursleys that Dudley had made him angry or scared and his magic had lashed out. Harry thought he was crazy the first time it had happened and his teachers thought he was a liar. It wasn’t until Hagrid told him he was a wizard that things began to make sense.

And then he’d been told he was an eldar and the world tumbled back into uncertainty. From the grim expressions on the faces of his hosts and guardian, Harry could tell he’d inadvertently done something very bad. Ornon had been furious and banished him from the training grounds. And Sailano stood before him now, disappointed and worried. Even Roimon seemed uncertain.

“Was anyone injured?”

“Those closest were knocked back, including myself. Alassë took the brunt of the attack. She is being tended to by the healers. Some were injured when practice targets were destroyed. Ornon has banned the Tar-Eldatur from returning until he has demonstrated control.”

“Damn it.”

Harry’s jaw dropped practically to the floor at the human curse that sprang from Sailano’s mouth. It was the last thing he was expecting, and he knew he’d done something horrible if it generated that reaction from the typically poised eldar councilmember.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said tentatively. “It was an accident. My anger got the better of me.”

He looked down at his shoes, guilt aching in his chest. But Sailano waved away his apology.

“No, you don’t understand the damage you have done.”

Harry’s head shot up, confused at the reply. “What do you mean?”

“Not only did you attack a fellow eldar, your own people, but you did so with offensive magic. An excessive amount of offensive magic. You threw a tantrum like a child and you injured your fellow eldar.”

“But I didn’t mean to—“

“It does not matter! You are the Tar-Eldatur. You must _never_ attack one of your own with magic, especially in your temper. You have power no other eldar could ever dream of, and you turned it against your own people today. You have betrayed their trust. A leader who is not trusted is no leader at all. Do you understand?”

Harry knew he should say yes, but he hated that even with his father’s memories, he was still messing things up. He was still getting things wrong, and there was so much he’d yet to learn. Everywhere he turned there was a new rule, a new code that he’d broken in his ignorance.

“No.”

Sailano looked shocked at his reply. “What?”

“No,” Harry repeated more firmly. “I _don’t_ understand. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand all the rules, I don’t understand all of the ‘power’ you say that I have, I can’t even defend myself in a practice sword-match. I don’t know what not to do or how to act. Nobody has told me, and it’s not intuitive. I don’t know what I’m even doing _here_.”

Harry sighed heavily. He rarely ever asked for what he was about to ask for. Perhaps it came from his years with the Dursleys. Perhaps it stemmed from his need to keep others safe from the dangers of his life. Or perhaps he had simply promised himself long ago that he would handle things on his own because it was the most reliable way. Whatever the case, it was difficult to pull himself up now and look Sailano in the eye and say the words he hadn’t said to an adult in years.

“I need your help.”


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

Hermione sat back and gingerly massaged her aching neck and shoulders. She’d long ago pulled one of the leather chairs over to the table where Sirius had placed the pensieve and her arms and legs at least were thankful for it. Apparently spending hours in a pensieve delving into old memories was taxing both mentally _and_ physically. Her neck and stiff and sore and she had the makings of a fine headache throbbing in her temples.

“I think we should stop for now,” Sirius said, gathering up the most recent memory. It had been one of the many summers Sirius and James had spent together in the woods behind the Potters’ house. James was telling Sirius some of the history of the Eldar, specifically about a war called “ _Ohtanossë_ ”, the Kin-War. He described battles between the eldar and many losses on both sides, but he hadn’t had the opportunity to finish the story. Mrs. Potter had called the boys in for lunch and food always trumped everything. Hermione knew that from Ron and Harry. Her own stomach gurgled, asking for supper.

“Maybe,” Hermione agreed reluctantly. She would much rather continue on to the next memory where perhaps James would finish the story of _Ohtanossë_.

“Smells like Molly made chicken tonight,” Sirius commented, sniffing the air appreciatively. Hermione couldn’t smell anything, but then she supposed there were some benefits to being a dog animagus beyond the ability to shape-shift. The two of them left the library after Sirius placed the pensieve safely in his father’s old desk and descended to the basement kitchen where sure enough Molly was cooking roast chicken with mash. She smiled warmly as the two of them entered.

“I was wondering when you two would leave that musty old library,” she commented, handing them the things to set the table for supper.

“I’m just doing a bit of personal research,” Hermione assured her as she made up place settings. “Sirius had generously lent me the use of his family’s library.”

Molly frowned in concern. “Be careful, dear,” she replied. “Some of those books can contain very nasty curses.”

“That’s why I’m there,” Sirius said. “Don’t worry, Molly.”

“There will be no skipping lunch again tomorrow,” Molly chided them. “There’s no need to skip meals when it is just a personal interest. Also, I wonder if you could help clean out the drawing room tomorrow. I’m afraid there are doxies in the curtain, and who know what we’ll find in those cabinets.”

Hermione didn’t really want to stop watching the memories, but she also knew how persistent Molly could be, and she’d rather not have her looking into Hermione’s “project”. It wasn’t that she felt she had to hide the truth, more that she thought the less people who knew, the safer it would be for both Sirius and Harry. None of Sirius’ memories thus far had discussed what Hermione was most concerned about, Voldemort’s history with the Eldar.

No sooner had the table been set did they hear the thumping of more feet on the stairs and the Weasley children burst into the kitchen. Fred and George made a beeline for the food but Molly was fast and slapped their hands away, ordering them to wash and have a seat. Ginny smiled at Hermione, taking a seat beside her. It was Ron who stopped short and gawked at the sight of Hermione and Sirius at the table. Granted, since they began looking at memories they’d mostly taken meals in the library or at strange hours of the day, but it certainly wasn’t the first time Ron had seen either of them in that time.

“What are you doing here?” Ron demanded.

Sirius snorted. “This _is_ my house,” he replied sarcastically.

“That’s not what I meant,” Ron retorted.

“We’re simply taking a break,” Hermione said.

“From what?”

“Sirius is helping me with a personal project.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed and Hermione knew he understood exactly what personal project she was referring to.

“Is this the same project Arthur helped you with?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“Yes. In fact my research at the Ministry helped expand my range of study. I find magical creatures quite fascinating.”

Fred and George groaned. “You’re not still on about Spew are you?”

“It’s S.P.E.W.,” Hermione replied primly. “And while I still believe that the rights of house elves are being ignored, I have expanded my research beyond.”

“You think house elves want to be set free?” George laughed. “You think Kreacher should be set free?”

Hermione frowned at the mention of the horrible house elf that served Grimmauld Place. “Perhaps if you treated him with kindness and humanity…”

“He’s not a human,” Ron retorted through a mouthful of chicken. “He’s an elf. That’s what he is and no matter how much bloody research you do it’s not going to make a difference. So lay off it.”

Mrs. Weasley scolded Ron for his language and insisted that he apologize for what he said, though she did agree that house elves much preferred to work than be set free. All of it made little difference to Hermione. She knew Ron wasn’t talking about house elves.

“I’ll be in the library,” she said lowly, before taking her plate of food and leaving. She heard Fred make a comment about Ron’s tact, but she didn’t care. She knew Ron didn’t understand why she was so insistent in learning about the Eldar. She knew that Ron considered Harry, perhaps not lost but certainly far away from them and therefore not of their concern. And she also knew that Ron could be an insensitive, hypocritical, faithless arsehole.

 

“At this point you would reply, ‘ _Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo_ ’, to which the visiting centaurs would give their own response, generally in their tongue, and you would receive their response with a slight bow of your head, or if you were to greet them on…”

Harry sat in the study, not really listening to all of what Sailano was telling him. Instead his mind roamed outside beyond the tree line where nobody cared about bows and responses and formalities. Harry will admit he perhaps brought some of it down on himself. He had asked Sailano for his help. But that was some time ago and since then they had mostly gone over protocols and pleasantries and all of the million and one ways to insult a goblin or some other such race. Sailano was a very good politician, speaking about ways to negotiate and give vague answers so there was more time to think on difficult matters. Harry was sure if he were to ever negotiate with a coven of vampires, he would be well-prepared. And yet, despite all of his new-found knowledge he didn’t feel as if he understood the Eldar anymore than he had when first arriving to Métimalondë.

The good thing was, he now knew that classes happened on his terms. He was Tar-Eldatur. If he felt done for the day then lessons were over and neither Sailano nor Nyarmo would raise any objections.

“ _Ánin apsenë_ , Forgive me, Lord Sailano,” Harry said, inclining his head just right. “My mind is not accustomed to understanding such intricacies as yours. I fear that if we discuss anything further I will become confused. Might we stop here for the day and resume tomorrow?”

Sailano nodded. “As you wish, _Tárnya_.”

Harry couldn’t leave the study fast enough. He rushed back to his room as fast as he could, shedding the more formal coat and pulling out the sturdier clothes he used for training. They hadn’t seen much use recently. Harry was still banned from the training field, and though he now had some idea why, he still wasn’t sure how he was to prove to Ornon that he had “learned control”. He hadn’t been able to perform any magic since then, even as he tried to make himself angry again by thinking about the times Malfoy or Dudley picked on him. He couldn’t replicate what happened at the training grounds on purpose, and that, more than anything, reminded Harry that he wasn’t in control. Not without his wand.

He laced up his boots and slid his wand down the side so he had it, just in case. For the last week, his mind had been drawn to the memory of his time in the meadow. All he could think about was seeing his father, or rather the memory of his father, and hearing his wisdom and encouragement. Harry had tried a few times in private to draw on his father’s memory again, but nothing seemed to work. Maybe going back to the place where it had happened would help. He thought he might be able to find his way back, but first he needed to make it out of Métimalondë without Roimon. The guardian had been his near constant shadow since he’d found out he was Tar-Eldatur, but recently Roimon had felt less like a shadow and more like a jailer. Luckily, when Harry was in Sailano’s home, Roimon had taken to giving him more space. It was the only way Harry had a chance of getting out alone. Apparation wasn’t an option, and Harry knew from hearing Hermione talk about it before that he’d been lucky to make it through the last time with all his body parts intact.

As an afterthought, Harry opened the chest at the foot of his bed and pulled out the sheathed sword. He’d never used it before; in training they’d always used simple practice swords. Remembering the first time he’d touched the sword upon arriving in Métimalondë, Harry was careful to only handle it by the leather grip and sheath. The ruby gleamed at the end of the pommel, deep red in the low light. If Harry looked long enough, he thought he could see some light shimmering in the depths of the gem, but Harry didn’t like to look too long. It made him nervous and itchy. Really, he should just leave the sword behind, but he was going out into the wild, and while his wand was all well and good, Ornon’s training had served to teach him one thing. It was stupid to rely on a tiny piece of wood to protect yourself. And so Harry strapped the sword to his waist and slipped out into the hallway.

Sailano’s house actually had two entrances. Harry had only ever come in through the main door, but back by the kitchens there was another door where oftentimes food and other supplies would be delivered. It was through this door that Harry slipped out and into the small side street. No one in the house noticed him leaving, or if they did they didn’t stop him. He did his best to stick to the shadows and against the walls out of sight of windows and doorways. Only when he was a few houses away did he relax. He turned towards the green mountains that guarded Métimalondë and made his way purposefully away from the haven into the wilds.

Once out beyond the town, Harry’s feet naturally picked up a game path through the woods. Everywhere he looked he saw some of the signs he’d learned about before from Hrávon. He saw rabbit droppings and the cloven footprints of deer. All around him he heard the rustling of smaller creatures in the bush and the singing of birds in the canopy. The deeper into the forest he walked the more he heard until Harry couldn’t help but smile, his spirits lightened like they hadn’t been since his mistake at the practice grounds. He let his feet guide him and time and distance slipped away until he emerged into the setting sun and found himself once more in the clearing where he sought refuge before.

Harry wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. He wanted to return to the meadow so he might be able to speak once more with his father and get his advice. But now he stood in the meadow and he felt rather silly as he waited for something to happen. Anything. A soft wind blew through the trees and rustled the blades of grass. The sun sank lower on the horizon, the last rays of light almost gone behind the mountain. Perhaps when night fell, that would be when his father would appear, just as he had before. Adjusting his sword on his hip, Harry sunk down onto the grass to wait, his eyes darting all around him. He waited for the sun to set and the stars to come out. He sat so still in the grass that some smaller animals ventured by him and he didn’t disturb them so they grew bolder. One little rabbit hoped right by, not inches from Harry’s leg. But he did nothing and the rabbit hoped off the next moment. It was only when the night had at last fallen and all traces of the sun was gone from the sky that Harry dared to breathe the words he’d spoken last time.

“I wish my father was here.”

Nothing. The gentle breeze still ruffled Harry’s hair. The stars continued to wink down at him, beautiful and distant and stationary. Harry remembered them dancing and wheeling overhead, but now they merely twinkled at him, laughing in their own way at his stupidity. His heart fell, but he refused to give up.

“I wish my father was here,” he repeated, his voice stronger and forceful. But still the stars laughed and the wind chuckled through the trees.

He clenched his hand, digging his fingernails into his palm and screwing his eyes shut, trying to focus all his magic and concentration into what he desired. He had to want it. He had to mean it. Everyone who’d ever spoken to Harry about magic had emphasized the need to be confident and certain in your conviction. He pictured the image of his father as he’d appeared before and focused on all he had told him.

“I wish my father was here!” he bellowed to the night.

“I am, _yónya_.”

Harry leapt to his feet, his hand going to his wand, but he relaxed as he saw his father once more. He was a bit different now. Instead of armor, he wore a simple tunic but his sword was at his side all the same and he still wore a simple crown upon his brow, similar to what Harry had worn before the Council.

At seeing his father once more, Harry felt a relief and he sat once more, confident that all would be well now. James took a seat by his son, adjusting his sword much as Harry had done.

“I missed you,” Harry said softly, unable to look away from the image of his father.

“I told you before that I am always with you.”

“Then you saw what happened at the field! Why did Ornon kick me out?”

“You already know why.”

“He said I couldn’t come back until I learned control. I lost my temper. I didn’t mean to use magic but nobody will teach me how to do it properly.”

James sighed. “Yes, in Hogwarts they did tend to spoon-feed it to the students. But for the Eldar, magic is not something that is taught. It is instinctual, intuitive.”

“But I succeeded. I used magic against Alassë. Against an opponent in a fight. Ornon used it too.”

“No, you lost your temper in a fight and you hurt, not only Alassë, but many others whom you were not fighting. When Ornon told you not to come back until you’d learned control, he didn’t mean specifically magic. Magic is part of you and will manifest naturally. He meant control over your emotions. The Tar-Eldatur cannot act in anger. He must always consider how is actions will affect not only the Eldar, but the Balance. There is no place for rash behavior and emotional outbursts.”

James’s words hurt. They bit deeper than Ornon’s harsh words or Sailano’s scolding. They hurt the deepest of them all.

“Like you?” Harry muttered.

“What?”

“You’re part of me, you know what I’m saying. Rash behavior and emotional outbursts like you did? Were you thinking clearly when you ran off and _abandoned_ the Eldar? You can’t sit here and tell me I’m wrong when you did something worse. You left. You were willing to let the Eldar die because you couldn’t handle being Tar-Eldatur. Because you were frightened and couldn’t control your emotions.”

Harry glared up at his father. “I guess I’m just like _you_.”

“No you’re not,” James sighed heavily. “You’re better than me.”

James’ weary admission surprised Harry and he found his growing bitterness halt. James smiled at him and reached out, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. Harry could feel the warmth of his hand and the weight on his shoulder like James was truly there. It was so easy to forget that he wasn’t.

“You are better than me, _yónya_ ,” James repeated with greater conviction. “You are kind, compassionate, and loyal. You will stand by those you love until the bitter end and fight not just for yourself, but for all. You, Harry, have the heart of a true Tar-Eldatur. Even if I had stayed, I would’ve been a terrible Tar-Eldatur to our people. But you are different than me. You have the spirit of Carastar Builder. Oirandur saw it in you when you stood before the Council. You are young still and for that I am sorry. You must grow up before your time. You must learn quickly. The world outside Métimalondë is growing darker. You do not have much time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know already. The enemy of the Eldar has returned. This time the Minnónar cannot avoid this war. He will not stop until he is victorious or destroyed.”

“And I’m the one who is going to have to do it. Voldemort is after me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

James sighed heavily, seeming to fight with himself over his next words. “Because there was a prophecy. One about a child born in July who would defeat him once and for all.”

Harry hadn’t been expecting an answer. He’d asked the question, but it seemed that any time he’d ever asked about Voldemort, someone had always shucked him off, had made some sort of excuse for his age or simply told him he didn’t need to know. Nobody had ever given him a straight answer, and now that someone had, he wasn’t sure if he believed them. A prophecy? All of this because of a prophecy?

“Hermione thinks Divination is fake,” he said at last.

James chuckled. “Many share her opinion. Including myself and your mother, when we first heard. But it doesn’t matter if you believe it or not. It matters that Voldemort believed it.”

“So, he killed you, tried to kill me, over some—some _tea leaves_?”

“No. He killed your mother and me because we were in his way. He tried to kill _you_ out of fear. You were a baby. You weren’t a threat to him. But he was afraid that someday you would be. Whether you believe in a prophecy or not doesn’t matter. It matters if other people believe. Because if they do, they will do anything to change it.”

At least he understood why now. Nobody had ever told him why Voldemort had come after him before. Others thought he was special, but Harry had known that he wasn’t. It never made sense, why the most powerful Dark Lord of the age would try to kill a baby. Why he would continue to go through such lengths, even after losing his body and living so many years as barely more than a shade.

“So, I have to kill him. That’s what the prophecy says doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Not because the prophecy is true, but rather because he will never stop until he has changed it. Métimalondë is a safe haven, but a safe haven cannot remain indefinitely. Eventually, he will find you. You cannot let him come here. The Eldar will not survive another direct attack by the Death Eaters.”

Harry leapt to his feet, suddenly needing to move. The meadow in the forest, which before had felt so peaceful and soothing felt claustrophobic and confining. The stars shone overhead, but it might as well have been metal bars. He felt trapped, cornered in the alley behind the primary school or locked in the cupboard by Uncle Vernon after yet another inexplicable accident. Last time he’d felt trapped he’d accidentally Apparated, but this time there was nowhere else to go. Métimalondë was the last haven, and even that was not so much a haven as a broom cupboard to momentarily hide in while Snape strode past.

“I don’t know what to do. Tell me what I have to do.”

“I can’t.”

“That’s not good enough! You can’t. Sailano, Ornon, Dumbledore, Sirius, nobody can tell me what to do! I have to figure it out all on my own? What good are you then?”

Harry turned his back to his father and didn’t see the hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, _yónya_. I wish I could be here.”

“Just go.”

He waited for a protest, but it never came. When Harry turned around again, he was alone in the meadow.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

Something was on his nose. Harry swatted at it idly, half asleep, but it came back. He rolled over with a grumble and was surprised when his hand met soft grass instead of the warm sheets of his bed. He scrambled to his feet, for a moment forgetting where he’d fallen asleep. The morning sun shone down on the meadow, its rays glinting off the fresh dew. Harry’s tunic and trousers were damp from spending the night on the ground out under the stars. His sword lay on the ground near where his head had rested last night.

“Easy, guardian.”

Harry’s hand went for his wand but he relaxed when he saw the familiar face. Hrávon stood with a blade of grass between his teeth and his bow and arrows slung over his shoulder.

“I’m not a guardian,” Harry groused, gathering up his sword. He was stiff from sleeping in the grass and knew that he really should return to Métimalondë. By now Sailano and the others would realize he was missing and be searching for him again. He’d apologized once for running off, but it seemed he would be doing it again.

“Sure, guardian-in-training.”

Harry snorted. “Not anymore. Ornon kicked me out.”

Hrávon seemed surprised by the news, but then he grinned and slapped Harry on the shoulder. “Good for you. What’d you do?”

“I accidentally used magic against my training partner.”

“Did you win?”

Harry winced, thinking about Alassë and the other eldar he’d injured. True, she hadn’t been able to fight back afterwards, but he wouldn’t necessarily define that as a win on his part. Hrávon seemed to understand his hesitation as he slung an arm over Harry’s shoulders.

“Look, in a fight, either you’re the one still standing, or you’re not. The how or why doesn’t matter.”

“I cheated, though. I used magic.”

“Of course you used magic! You’re an eldar. Magic is part of us, why wouldn’t we use it? Even wizards use magic and it’s stupid not to train with it.”

“Is that why you’re not a guardian?” Harry asked hesitantly.

But Hrávon snorted. “I’m not a guardian because I don’t want to be a guardian. Too stiff. Too many rules. And you of all people should know, when you come from a travelling clan, they’re not exactly scrambling over themselves to accept you. My guess is you have some old family, so they let you in. I’m better off as a scout anyways. Too wild to be a guardian.”

Hrávon laughed and mussed up Harry’s hair as he removed his arm.

“So, are we going to sit around chatting all day or are we going hunting?”

He should get back. The responsible, respectful thing to do would be to get back. The Tar-Eldatur would go back. But the idea of spending the day with Hrávon, tracking game and learning in ways of the forest was too tempting. It sure beat spending the day with Sailano, bored stiff as he listened to the eldar go over endless protocols.

Harry grinned. “I was waiting for you to finish your little speech.”

“Alright _yonincë_. Let’s see what you remember.”

Harry had never really grown up with friends. Dudley had. Dudley had lots of friends. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon used to simper all the time about how popular their little boy was, how much of a leader he could be, how all of his little friends just adored him. Harry didn’t have that. He was always the freak. Dudley’s weird cousin. If anyone tried to make friends with him, Dudley would quickly set them straight. As a result, Harry hadn’t really played as a child. He’d mostly been on his own. Sometimes he’d drawn pictures, usually of his strange dreams of flying motorcycles, but he’d never just gone to the playground and ran around. He’d never ran wild, hooting and hollering and just burning off some steam.

“With as much noise you’re making, crashing through every bush, we won’t catch anything today,” Hrávon said, though the grin on his face and the way he thumped Harry on the shoulder meant he didn’t really mind. They were having fun. What had started as a tracking exercise had quickly degraded into a simple run. They darted through the trees, jumping off logs and rocks and swinging on low branches. A few times Hrávon had climbed a tree and leapt from branch to branch, as comfortable running along the branches as a squirrel. Harry kept his feet on the ground for the most part, but he still found himself laughing and enjoying just being free.

“ _I’m_ making noise?” Harry retorted. “You’re the one shouting and scaring everything away!”

Hrávon leapt and grabbed a branch, hauling himself up with ease. Harry watched as he scrambled up the tree like he had suction cups on his hands and feet. He was about halfway up when he stopped and noticed Harry still on the ground.

“Well come on!” he called.

Harry looked up at the tree and was sure this was a horrible idea. But his chest felt light and his stomach leapt in exhilaration. He jumped and caught the lower branch. Quidditch training and falling off his broom more times than he cared to admit meant he was able to haul himself up and swing a leg over the branch with little trouble. Slowly but steadily he made his way up the tree. Hrávon shouted “encouragement” down at him. Something thwacked him solidly on the head.

“Ow!” Harry cried, reaching up to rub the spot where an acorn had hit him.

“Hurry up!” Hrávon said, tossing another acorn down at him. Harry ducked this time and it missed.

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“Ow!”

Coming under fire, Harry began to climb quicker until before he knew it he was level with Hrávon and the ground was very far below.

“Finally. Let’s go.”

Hrávon started climbing once more and Harry followed, though at a more measured, cautious pace. Hrávon moved like he’d been born in the trees and lived there his entire life. Perhaps he had. Harry hadn’t, though. As they moved higher the branches became thinner and there was more give. The wind blew harder, higher in the canopy and the tree swayed to and fro, causing Harry to grip the branches harder until his palms ached.

“I think this is okay,” Harry said at last, stopping on a branch near the trunk. They were quite high, higher than most of the other trees in the forest. From their vantage point, they looked out over the woods and down the mountainside to the coast where Métimalondë and it harbor were nestled. The sun shone off the water, lighting up the city. It reminded Harry of his first view of the haven, when he looked at it with awe and didn’t see the crumbling buildings and uninhabited homes.

“It makes you wonder what it was like, before everything,” Harry said.

Hrávon snorted. “Doesn’t matter, does it? My family didn’t live here anyways. We’ve been travelers for a long time. Before the Dark Lord. Before Carastar sealed our fate and his son abandoned us.”

Harry’s breath hitched and he covered it as best he could with a few coughs.

“But, it seems like Carastar was a…good Tar-Eldatur,” Harry said hesitantly. “I mean, the Eldar thrived under him.”

“And died,” Hrávon retorted. “Aicassë, Carastar’s great capital, is in ruins. So are all the other Eldar cities. This is the last haven. And the traveler families, they were wiped out too. Do you think I willingly chose to come here?”

“No?” Harry said tentatively.

“Of course not! But what else was I supposed to do? My clan was gone. I was lucky I could shoot. I could join the scouts and live in the barracks. Sure, Carastar _built_ a lot of things, but when it came down to protecting his people he failed, and the Eldar paid the ultimate price. And with Carastar’s son gone, maybe it’s for the best. Maybe the last thing the Eldar need is another Tar-Eldatur.”

“But what about the Balance?”

Hrávon laughed and his guffaws echoed over the treetops. “The Balance? Do you still believe in that children’s story? It’s a myth, so that the Tar-Eldatur would never be challenged. It’s a story, made up by the clan so nobody would try to usurp them. Magic is part of us all. We don’t need some king to maintain it. _We_ maintain it, together.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, studying his own hands. Any time he spoke to Hrávon, he always seemed to contradict what Sailano and the Council told him. Nyarmo seemed adamant that only the Tar-Eldatur could maintain Balance. Sailano and even _Snape_ seemed to think that only Harry could do it, that there was no one else. And yet, Hrávon sat up in a tree and claimed all of it was nonsense. Who was he to believe? Roimon had said the travelling clans were not to be trusted, and yet Hrávon hadn’t done anything for Harry _not_ to trust him.

“You, _yónya_ have a lot to learn.” Hrávon climbed to his feet and began walking towards the end of the tree branch.

“What are you doing?” Harry called, watching the sway of the branch nervously. Hrávon seemed confident as he strolled further towards the end, the thinner part that bent with his weight and each gust of wind.

“My brother used to be able to stand out on the end of a branch for hours,” Hrávon replied, stepping lightly and ever further towards the end. “He was the best scout in our clan. When the Death Eaters came they killed him first, so he couldn’t alert the clan. I found him as I ran, his skin flayed from his body.”

At last Hrávon stopped, reaching the last section that would still hold his weight. He turned back towards Harry, for once his eyes lacking their usual mischief.

“Where was the Tar-Eldatur then?”

Suddenly a great gust of wind came down over the tree tops, rocking the canopy. Harry grasped his own branch and clung to it as the tree itself bent in the onslaught. He watched in horror as Hrávon swayed and struggled to maintain his balance. It seemed he might keep it, but then the branch leapt and Hrávon was gone into thin air.

“No!” Harry scrambled for his wand, but it was too late. Hrávon hit one of the larger branches on the way down, breaking his fall before he hit the grass beneath the tree and Harry heard the sickening crunch of bone. When he’d first climbed up, Harry had been worried of slipping and falling all the way to the ground below. Now as he leapt down from branch to branch, all he wanted to do was fall. He landed on the ground hard, hitting his knees but it didn’t matter. The next moment he was on his feet again, sprinting towards where Hrávon lay. As he approached his mind conjured up the image of Alassë, as she’d been at the practice field after Harry’s accidental magic. His shoulder was out of alignment and there was a gash on his forehead and blood flowed crimson in his golden hair.

“Hrávon. Hrávon!” Harry called, trying to rouse his friend. Hrávon remained still, though. Harry’s hands shook as he tore off a bit of cloth and pressed it to the gash on Hrávon’s forehead, tears burning his eyes. He didn’t want to lose his new friend. He couldn’t.

There were a number of healing spells Harry had learned for the Triwizard Tournament that might’ve helped in this instant. But in his panic, his wand was still tucked away in his boot, forgotten. Instead, the memory of Ornon on the practice field and to mind, bent over and murmuring over Alassë. His hands came up instinctively, and he recalled what James had told him about Carastar, how he had embraced the farmers and they were renewed. He didn’t know what to do, if there was a spell or not, but he had to try. Placing his hands over the cut on Hrávon’s forehead, he called forward James’ memories of magic and healing. He could feel the magic growing in his chest and travelling down through his arms. It was like that day at the practice field, only this time the magic was brought on, not in anger but in desperation. He had to help Hrávon.

The magic built, boiling under his skin and it seemed that his hands and arms glowed with some sort of hidden fire. It was almost too much to bear until something snapped and it rushed from Harry’s fingertips in a great white light that not only burst from beneath his palms but enveloped Hrávon’s whole body. Hrávon gasped, his eyes going wide and his body seizing like he was coming up for air after a long time underwater. He looked up at Harry with a mixture of confusion and relief. But that relief quickly turned to suspicion as the light faded and Harry sagged back, all energy leaving his body. Hrávon sat up quickly, grabbing Harry’s arm as he wavered.

“You healed me,” Hrávon declared. “You—you’re not a guardian, are you?”

“No,” Harry rasped as his vision swam and his head spun. He was going to pass out. He’d passed out often enough to realize when it was going to happen. Hrávon’s hand was the only thing keeping him upright at that moment.

“You’re—you’re the _Tar-Eldatur_!”

“Y—yes…” And then his vision faded and even Hrávon’s grasp holding him up couldn’t keep him awake.

When Harry came to again it was night. The stars once more twinkled overhead as he lay in the grass, only this time he was not alone. Beside him a small campfire danced on a pile of logs, the wood popping and throwing small embers every so often. Harry felt miserable. He felt weak and sore, much as he had after the Third Task after he’d fought a duel with Voldemort. But there was something more to this exhaustion. He felt cold. He was lying right next to the fire and he could feel the heat on his skin, but that’s where it stayed. Deep within his muscles and bones, down to his core he felt cold and the fire did nothing to warm him. It was a deep, bone-chilling cold as in the dead of winter and Harry shivered, his body instinctively trying to warm up.

Groaning and with more effort than it should’ve taken, Harry rolled over towards the fire, trying to get as close as he could without burning his clothes. It took the edge off, but even as Harry pushed himself up to a sitting position so that most of his body was facing the fire, he still couldn’t shake the cold.

“You’re awake.”

Harry’s head shot around but he had to throw a hand out to prop himself up as his head spun. When the world settled once more, Hrávon stood with a modest pile of wood in his arms, looking down at Harry with some unreadable expression.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. “How long was I…?”

“Some hours,” Hrávon replied as he set the wood down just out of reach of the greedy fire. “I thought it would be better to just make a camp for the night.”

“Thank you, for the fire and everything. It’s gotten really cold.”

Hrávon frowned Harry’s words as he sat down on the other side of the fire and began poking at the pile with one of the new logs, arranging it for more. Harry watched him in silence as he tended the fire with practiced hands. He waited patiently, watching and trying to figure out what Hrávon could be thinking. Harry’s friend hadn’t been this quiet ever before, unless they were stalking game.

When Hrávon was at last finished he sat back on his heels and folded his hands, studying Harry across the fire. His keen eyes lingered on the way Harry folded his arms across his chest and constantly tried to inch closer to the fire, as if he were about to sit in it at any moment. The silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward as it had never been before. Harry hardly dared to even look at Hrávon. He felt guilty for not telling him the truth before and was worried. Hrávon had made it clear he held no love for Carastar or any of the Tar-Eldatur line.

When Hrávon at last spoke, his voice was gruff and cold.

“I suppose I have to call you _Tárnya_ now.”

“I rather you didn’t.”

Hrávon scoffed. “Some king you are.”

“I never wanted to be Tar-Eldatur.”

But Hrávon didn’t believe him.

“You lied to me. Is your name even Haldanár?”

“Yes, but I prefer to go by Harry.”

Hrávon quirked an eyebrow at this. “Harry? A human name? Why?”

“Because I didn’t know I was an eldar until a few months ago.”

“How can you _not_ know you’re an eldar? It’s who we are. We don’t exactly _look_ like the humans.”

“I did. My mother, before she died, placed a strong glamour over me. I lived with Muggles. I didn’t even know I had magic until I was eleven, and then I thought I was a wizard.”

Hrávon’s eyes burned and he glared at Harry, leaping to his feet once more.

“You’re one of _them_?” he hissed. “A wizard!”

“I’m Eldar, the same as you.”

“You’re _nothing_ like me. You lived with the humans. You’re one of them with an eldar face. You’re not from the travelling clans. You weren’t hunted down and slaughtered! You didn’t watch your family die!”

“My parents were killed by Voldemort!” Harry was on his feet, hands clenched as he screamed at Hrávon. “They were murdered, the same as yours! I’ve faced him more than you ever will!”

He was letting his anger get the better of him again. Harry could feel the power growing in his arms. It was like trying to shove your arm into a sleeve that was too tight. At any second he felt that he was going to tear through his very skin and lash out again, and part of him was terrified that it would happen again and he’d hurt Hrávon. Desperate to keep control and keep the power in check, Harry wrapped his arms around himself, hugging them to his chest hoping that he might be able to turn the outburst inwards. It was still growing, snapping at his control like a vicious dog at the end of a short chain. The links of his control creaked and bent, struggling under the strain. He didn’t even notice Hrávon stopped shouting at him; he was too focused on just containing the power. He had to learn control. He had to keep others from getting hurt. Hrávon was not going to be like Alassë.

“ _Sérë_. _Sérë, Tárnya_. _Be at peace and rest._ ”

The Eldarin words were soothing, like cool water over a burn. They washed over him, bathing Harry in their tranquility, smoothing the edge of his fraying control. He heard them as a soft trickling at first, but they soon grew until they washed over him and Harry felt his muscles relax and his magic sink back into his core. He blinked, and found himself lying on the ground. Hrávon leaned over him with his eyes closed, one hand on his shoulder as he murmured those words over and over again.

“ _Sérë, sérë, be at peace and rest._ ”

They washed away his frustration and left Harry feeling light and malleable.

“Hrávon.”

All went silent and it seemed the very forest itself hung on the next words from Harry’s mouth. Hrávon opened his eyes slowly, his expression uncertain.

Harry struggled for a moment, trying to decide what he should say. He didn’t want to lose the other eldar as a friend; and Harry _did_ consider Hrávon to be a friend. Perhaps his only friend here in Métimalondë.

“ _Ánin apsene._ _I should have told you everything, about who I was and where I came from. I should not have led you astray. I hope that my uncertainty and fear did not ruin our friendship._ ”

It was impossible to read Hrávon’s expression. He stared down at Harry, watching him as he would a deer, fox, or bird. Harry thought he might pull out an arrow and shoot him there. But he didn’t. Instead he reached out his hand and helped Harry upright. Then, to Harry’s immense surprise he hugged him, thumping him on the back.

“ _Nál as nil_.” You are with a friend.

Harry’s face broke into a wide grin and he returned the hug, relief surging through his heart.

“ _Hantanyel, nildonya_.” Thank you, my friend. “And for helping me regain control. I was scared I was going to lose it again.”

Hrávon gave Harry a strange, confused look. “I didn’t help you. You helped me.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“When I was angry, you took my hand and I felt…strong and warm. It was reassuring, comforting. But then you collapsed. There was so much conflict in you.”

“But…the words. The things you were saying.”

Hrávon sighed heavily, plucking at a blade of grass by his foot. “My mother used to tell me that, when I was a child and became angry or had nightmares about…things.”

Harry knew what Hrávon had nightmares about. Wizards. It hurt to think that the world Harry found as a child, the first world that accepted him, was one of Hrávon’s greatest fears.

“ _Sérë._ Peace.”

“ _Sérë_ ,” Hrávon nodded. “I was…a little hot-headed.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow, grinning. “Was?”

Hrávon laughed, shoving him lightly. It was a bit too hard, but mostly because Harry felt like gelatin. He recognized the signs of magic usage from when he’d had his accident on the field. He teetered for a moment, but managed to stay upright. Hrávon watched him with concern, but didn’t say anything or make a move to steady him, for which Harry was grateful. They sat listening to the sounds of the forest at night and the soft crackle of the fire, content to let the peace linger between them until Hrávon spoke again.

“If you are the ‘long-lost’ Tar-Eldatur, why haven’t you been announced? Why doesn’t everyone in Métimalondë know?”

Harry shook his head “Because I’m not ready. I don’t know how to fight, I don’t even know how to control my own magic, it seems. I can’t be the Tar-Eldatur that the Eldar deserve. Not right now, and maybe not ever.”

Hrávon laughed and Harry looked at him with surprise. “What?”

“You _would_ make a horrible Tar-Eldatur.”

Harry bristled a bit. “Well I healed you, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Hrávon conceded. “Thank you for that. So, can you walk?” Hrávon climbed to his feet and began to toss sand on the dying fire.

Slowly Harry climbed to his feet. His legs were rubbery and unsteady, but he could stand and took a few paces around the small camp before nodding.

“Good. I wouldn’t want to have to carry you all the way back to Métimalondë.”

“Can’t we just stay out here the rest of the night?”

“You’re the Tar-Eldatur. And I’m guessing you didn’t tell them where you were going, or that you would be gone for two days, so the Council is probably looking for you right now. Am I correct?”

Harry shrugged grudgingly. Hrávon was right, but Harry didn’t really want to think about having to apologize to Sailano and Roimon _again_. Disappearing once, by mistake was one thing, but this time he’d deliberately deceived them and hadn’t given any indication that he was safe. They were likely tearing the city apart right then, and Harry was going to waltz into town and say he just needed to get away for a little while.

Hrávon took Harry’s silence as acquiescence. Together they turned away from the mountains and began the hike back to Métimalondë. Harry didn’t relish their arrival, but as he walked he did feel lighter and freer. He kept glancing at Hrávon and smiling. It felt good that someone knew. With all of the other burdens on his mind, he hadn’t even realized he was carrying around this one too, the secret of his identity. But now there was nothing between them to hide, and Hrávon was still his friend. As he thought back to all that had happened that day, he knew at last what he needed to do.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

It was much too late, or perhaps it was too early. She wasn’t really sure how long she’d been sitting at the kitchen table, nursing the same cup of cold tea, but the sun had set long ago and everyone else had gone to bed, leaving Hermione to stare at the unopened parchment envelope lying on the table. Her eyes traced over the elegant writing on the front as they had many times since the envelope had first been left at Grimmauld Place.

“Mr. Harry Potter”, it read. It had arrived earlier today with the rest of their school letters. Why it had come to Grimmauld Place instead of actually finding Harry, Sirius could only speculate. He figured that, since Harry was unreachable at the moment, the Hogwarts owls settled for the next best thing, his godfather.

Part of Hermione had been holding out hope that Harry would return before the next term started, but it looked as if that may not happen. They were set to go to King’s Cross tomorrow morning, or rather later that day, and leave for Hogwarts on the Hogwarts Express as they did every year. Except this year there was a very real possibility that Harry would not be with them. Hermione didn’t want to think about what the school year would be like without her best friend, but she couldn’t help but consider the possibility with this tangible evidence of Harry’s absence.

She’d learned all she could from Sirius about the Eldar. He’d shown her all of the memories he was willing to show her, and she’d learned a great deal. She understood now that the Eldar were great warriors, drawing on instinctive magic to defend themselves. But they were also peace-loving and reluctant to get involved in battles of any kind. When they had first learned Harry was the Tar-Eldatur, Hermione thought perhaps the Eldar could be the deciding factor in the war against Voldemort. The more she learned about Voldemort and his recruitment from Sirius, the more she realized that the Eldar could very well mean the difference between victory and defeat. But Sirius had quickly quashed that idea. The Eldar stayed out of wizarding business. James Potter was the exception, not the rule.

She barely heard the careful footsteps on the stairs. Quickly she rose and made to wash out her mug.

“I’m just heading up now,” she assured the newcomer, thinking it was either Sirius or Mrs. Weasley.

“Okay.”

Hermione was surprised to find Ron standing in the doorway, dressed in pajamas and a dressing robe. They hadn’t spoken much beyond “Pass the vegetables” since Ron’s callous words. Without Harry there, nobody urged them to apologize to each other and neither was willing to make the move on their own. Now Hermione couldn’t help but blurt out the obvious question.

“What are you doing up?” She thought Ron would be snoring away in his bed by now. He’d gone up hours ago with nary more than a grunt goodnight to his family.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. He shuffled over and reached up into the cupboard for a glass. The silence between them was deafening as he filled it with water and Hermione clutched her half-empty mug to her chest. For the first time, she really looked at Ron, and was surprised by what she found. Tonight was not his first sleepless night. He had dark circles under his eyes and a general weariness to his shoulders that she hadn’t noticed because she’d been too busy being cross with him. He seemed…lost. His movements were awkward and uncomfortable and as he stood with his glass of water his eyes fell to the unopened envelope addressed to Harry on the table. For the first time, Hermione realized he missed Harry too. She saw it in the longing in his eyes and the way his mind seemed to drift to other, far away things, even as they stood just the two of them in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” they said at the same time.

“I’m sorry for what I said, about all of the research and everything. I know you’re just trying to help Harry and I’m sorry I haven’t been helping.”

But Hermione shook her head. “It’s okay. I was so focused on finding out about the Eldar that I let myself get carried away. And you’re right. None of it matters. Harry isn’t here.”

“He’ll come back,” Ron assured her. “He always does.”

Hermione nodded, though she didn’t feel convinced. “But when? Do you think Snape was right? About Harry not returning?”

“Never. Harry is Harry. He always comes back.”

“But will he still _be_ Harry? Who knows what he is learning right now, or what sort of things they’re putting him through.”

“He’s our best friend; he always will be. But you’ve heard the reports from the Order meetings.”

Grimmauld Place was the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s anti-Voldemort league. They would often meet for secret meetings, but Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny were not allowed to attend, being under-aged and not members of the Order. However, Fred and George were brilliant and they’d devised a number of ways to listen in. Therefore, they knew that Voldemort was growing his army, and they also knew that he was looking for something, some sort of weapon.

It was terrifying. There were nights when Hermione couldn’t fall asleep. Harry had told them about what happened in the graveyard. She still had nightmares about hooded figures with masks, like the ones they’d seen at the Triwizard Tournament, and Voldemort, pale and snake-like as Harry described him. She dreamed that they killed Harry, Ron, her parents, and everybody she ever cared about before at last he turned his glowing red eyes on her and pronounced those two horrible words.

 Just thinking about it made her hands shake and her breath come short. She had to set her mug down in the sink and wrap her arms around herself to hide the trembling. Ron frowned and tentatively reached out, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her in. Hermione immediately leaned into his chest, glad for the feeling of comfort, no matter how temporary. They stood there in the kitchen, drawing strength from each other. Neither murmured empty platitudes or assured the other that everything would be fine. Rather they just took comfort in being together.

A few hours later the house became a bustling hive of activity as Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set about bringing all of their things together in preparation for their departure to King’s Cross. Somehow, despite Mrs. Weasley’s nagging from the night before, Ron was still not packed. He ran around Grimmauld Place, looking for last minute items that the twins had apparently “relocated”. They barely made it out the door in time to take the Knight Bus to the station. Even though Harry wasn’t with them, they were still escorted by a number of Order members, including Mad-Eye Moody and Tonks. Sirius tried to go, appearing at the door in his Animagus form of a black dog, but Mad-Eye wouldn’t have it, no matter how Sirius whined and then growled. It was a final threat to Stun him that forced Sirius to shift back and wish them all good luck in the coming term.

“I will keep you updated if I hear anything from Harry,” Sirius promised Hermione softly as he helped her bring her trunk down the stairs.

“Me too,” Hermione agreed.

They dragged everything out onto the street and then Mr. Weasley flagged down the Knight Bus and with the conductor’s help they were able to get all the trunks loaded as Mad-Eye and Tonks kept watch. Perhaps it was a bit much, but with Voldemort returned and Harry hidden away, Ron and Hermione became the next prime targets. If there was ever a way to draw Harry out, it was to threaten his friends. Hermione found herself between George and Tonks, holding on for dear life as the driver, Earl, swerved in and out of traffic and just barely avoided an accident each time. Even whilst fearing for her life, though, Hermione could marvel at the wonders of magic. Not a single Muggle on the street seemed to notice the large purple bus as it raced down the road and popped out of random alleys.

That didn’t mean Hermione particularly cared for the Knight Bus as a method of transportation and so she was all too happy when they arrived at Kings Cross and the purple triple-decker bus zoomed off.

“Let’s not do that again anytime soon,” Ron murmured, looking decidedly green.

Tonks chuckled as she escorted them into the station and they found trolleys for everyone. Kings Cross was busy, but the bustle worked to their favor as they slipped through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ in pairs. The familiar sight of the Hogwarts Express with steam gently billowing from its engine served to remind Hermione that things were different this year. She didn’t have her parents escorting her this time and no matter how hard she looked, there would be no Harry.

“Here, let me give you a hand,” Tonks offered, reaching down to help Hermione haul her trunk onto the train. They found an empty compartment and Hermione set Crookshanks’ basket on the seat.

“Thank you, Tonks,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Tonks replied, smiling. “Have a good term.”

“I will. And you…stay safe.”

Tonks nodded, “Always do.”

A few moments after Tonks left, Hermione was joined in the compartment by Ron and Ginny, and then Neville found them.

“Did you have a good holiday?” he asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Pretty good. Have you heard anything about Harry?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, having decided the night before what they would be saying to anyone who asked about Harry. The official “story” would come out eventually, in fact Hermione was surprised it hadn’t come out yet. But then Rita Skeeter and the rest of the Daily Prophet seemed perfectly content alternating between wild speculations as to Harry’s whereabouts and slanderous articles about Dumbledore questioning his mental facilities. Despite the fact that Minister Fudge had been at the Third Task and seen Cedric’s body and heard what Harry said, he refused to believe that Voldemort had returned and instead spent most of the summer trying to paint Dumbledore as a senile old man and Harry as a crazy runaway. It was ridiculous and anyone in their right minds wouldn’t believe it, or so Ron and Hermione had thought.

“He is still away,” Ron said. “But the healers say he’s getting better. It’s just going to be a long recovery.”

Neville nodded solemnly. “It’s not going to be the same this year without him.”

The ride to Hogwarts was awkward. They would sit in silence for a time, until someone would force conversation by making some random note and the others would grasp onto that topic until they’d either exhausted it, or mentioned something to do with Harry. Then they would once more lapse into silence. The empty space in the compartment was never so large. When Ron and Hermione had to leave for their prefects’ meeting, she was glad to leave, even if it meant finding out Malfoy had made prefect too and that she would have patrol with him two weeks from the start of term.

Upon arriving at Hogwarts, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny took the carriage together up to Hogwarts and sat at the Gryffindor table, unconsciously leaving a space open next to Ron as if Harry was going to walk in through the doors of the Great Hall, late as per usual and hurriedly sit down to try to avoid any more attention. But Professor McGonagall brought in the new first years and they were sorted and there was no Harry. But there was a new face at the staff table. A short, plump woman dressed in horrible pink robes perched on her chair by Snape and Hermione had a feeling she knew what this witch was doing at Hogwarts. Sure enough, Professor Dumbledore introduced her as Professor Umbridge and was about to continue on with his announcements when she stood up.

“What on earth?” Ron muttered, echoing similar sentiments as the Great Hall watched Umbridge step up to deliver a speech.

“Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, for that kind introduction. What a joy it is to see your bright faces, smiling up at me.”

Hermione doubted there was a student in the crowd who was smiling, but she forced herself to listen closely as Umbridge delivered a rather long and dull speech. Ron and the others had long since lost interest, but Hermione found herself hanging on every word and hearing the messages in between the sentences. When she at last finished, Dumbledore thanked her graciously for her “enlightening” remarks before finishing his own announcements and dismissing them.

“Is she done?” Ron asked, jolting awake at the other students began to leave.

“Yes,” Hermione hissed, not at all happy about what was said. “Come on, we have to take the first years up to the tower.”

“Alright, alright. Where do you think Dumbledore scraped her from?”

“The Ministry of Magic. She made that abundantly clear during her speech,” Hermione replied with a heavy sigh. “It’s quite clear, the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts.”

As they led the new first years up to Gryffindor tower, for the first time in her life Hermione felt dread for the upcoming school term. If the Ministry was interfering at Hogwarts that meant Dumbledore’s influence was waning. Dumbledore was the only wizard the Dark Lord ever feared. What did that mean for the future, especially for Muggle-borns like herself?


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

Upon returning to Métimalondë, Harry was surprised to find that Roimon was nowhere in sight. Instead, when he returned to Sailano’s house he was met by a stone-faced guardian he’d never seen before in his life. The guardian was introduced as Tulco, but not by himself. He never said a word to Harry as Sailano explained that Roimon was going to be away for some time and that Tulco would be with Harry at all times from now on. And he meant all times. The first time Tulco followed Harry into his quarters, Harry demanded to know what he was doing, but Tulco remained impassive and simply stood just inside the door as Harry changed for bed and tried to sleep. The first night he couldn’t rest at all with Tulco’s gaze never leaving him. The next morning, Tulco was still there and he didn’t turn around as Harry changed and prepared to go about his day. It quickly became clear that Tulco wasn’t filling in for Roimon. He’d replaced him. Where Roimon was kind and generally easy-going, Tulco was silent and firm. Roimon was always respectful, answering Harry’s questions or simply making small-talk, but Tulco never so much as acknowledged Harry. It was as if a great stone wall had taken to following him around, even in Sailano’s home.

Harry was hesitant to leave the house with Tulco. He thought that perhaps Tulco would stop him, but when Harry headed for the front door one day after breakfast, Tulco didn’t stop him. But he did follow him, a half step behind Harry. They came across little Veryë, playing as she always did outside of her house. She smiled and waved at Harry, who waved back, but when she caught sight of Tulco she frowned and slipped back inside her home. Harry glared back at Tulco with frustration.

“ _Sérë,_ Tulco,” Harry muttered. “You’ll frighten everyone off if you stand over me like that.”

Tulco didn’t respond though and he did not relax. Harry sighed in resignation and continued on.

Since speaking with Hrávon, Harry thought he knew what he might have to do to make things better. It was a long-shot and it didn’t really make any sense in his head, but some small voice inside him told him it was the proper thing to do. Harry liked to think that small voice was the piece of his father that lived on inside him. He hoped it was. The problem was he really didn’t know where it was he needed to go, so he walked until he came to one of the busier streets of Métimalondë and then he stopped one of the passing eldar to ask.

“ _Herinya, can you tell me where the healers reside?_ ”

The eldar lady smiled kindly at his formality before pointing him in the direction of the hospital.

“ _Hantanyel_.”

Ignoring Tulco, Harry walked briskly down the path the eldar had pointed out, weaving through the crowd and turning where she directed until at last he arrived at a long, single-floor building. Just beyond Harry could see the edge of the training grounds where other elder practiced under the eagle-eye of Ornon and his lieutenants. The healing house was open and Harry slipped inside and found, not a long ward like the Hogwarts hospital wing, but a hallway with smaller, private rooms branching off to either side. It was light and airy inside and a breeze blew through the open windows. Harry stood in the hallway, uncertain of what to do next. But not a moment later a healer in a pale gray robe emerged from one of the rooms to the right and surveyed him, looking for injuries.

“ _How may I assist you?_ ” the healer asked.

Now that Harry was here, he found himself unable to speak around the lump in his throat. He clasped his hands in front of him and swallowed hard. “ _I—I’m looking for Alassë. Can you tell me which room she is in?”_

The healer seemed to be judging whether Harry meant his patient harm and eventually decided he did not.

“ _She is the fourth room on the left._ ”

“ _Hantanyel,”_ Harry replied with a slight bow.

_“She sleeps still.”_

Harry nodded his understanding before thanking the healer again and continuing down to Alassë’s door. It was closed and Harry knocked politely before realizing that if she was still unconscious, she wouldn’t answer. Slowly he opened the door. Alassë lay in the bed, the morning sunlight falling over her white blanket. Her leg, which had been broken before, was splinted with cushions under it. She was so still, the only movement a slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her brown hair had been combed and lay over her pillow framing her tan skin. She looked rather young without her battle grimace that Harry had become so accustomed to. Tulco followed him inside and Harry nearly turned around and hissed at him to wait outside, but he didn’t. Alassë lay here, in this state because Harry couldn’t control his temper and snapped. Instead he pulled the chair from the corner and sat down but Alassë’s bedside.

He’d gotten this idea from Hrávon, though Hrávon didn’t know it; particularly when he’d healed his friend when he was hurt. He’d done it on purpose because his friend needed it. The magic had flowed through him from his very core, giving a piece of himself. It was what the Tar-Eldatur did. He gave of himself for his people.

Taking a deep breath, Harry tentatively took Alassë’s hand in his own. It was cool and limp and Harry handled it tentatively, as if he were about to break it. He tried to remember what it had felt like when he’d healed Hrávon, how the power had welled up in his core and flowed out through his arms and hands. Every other time he’d attempted to do magic without his wand, he hadn’t felt anything. He’d concentrated as hard as he could, even muttered the words of the spells he was so familiar with, but still there was nothing. This time was different. This time he knew what it was supposed to feel like, and he was able to find his magic easily. Warmth flowed from his center, through his veins, down into his hands, and over Alassë. Without even having to see the magic, Harry knew it was working. He could feel it knit bone and sinew. It washed over and through Alassë, chasing out the darkness of sickness and pain and replacing it with the warm light of healing. The further his magic spread, the more Harry’s strength waned, yet he pushed on as he’d done in the Dragon Challenge and in the Second Task, as he’d done all his life. He pushed until all of Alassë was bathed in the bright glow and all of the darkness was pushed aside.

And then he released the breath he had been holding and the light faded, some of it going back into Harry but much of it sinking into Alassë’s skin. When Harry opened his eyes again he was ready to fall over, but Alassë’s skin glowed with new life and her eyes fluttered open. Harry slumped back in his chair, panting and tired but grinning from ear to ear. Alassë looked around in confusion and then her eyes landed on Harry.

“What did you…?”

“ _Ánin apsene._ ”

Alassë eyed Harry suspiciously as she slowly pushed herself up. She seemed surprised at how strong she felt, how easily she could move, even older injuries.

“ _I don’t understand. What happened? Why am I here?”_

“ _I hurt you. I let my anger overcome me and I used my magic. You were in a deep sleep and the healers couldn’t wake you.”_

 _“So what has changed?”_ Alassë asked slowly. “ _I feel…renewed.”_ She looked at Harry, still leaning on his chair heavily though his breathing had returned to normal. Harry had spent long enough with Hermione, had seen her mind at work and he saw the same in Alassë now as she looked at what was before her and came to the conclusion that was sitting before her.

“ _You…did you heal me?”_

Slowly, Harry nodded.

“ _But only—“_ Alassë’s eyes widened and she fell to her knees before his chair, bowing low. “ _Tárnya, ánin apsene. I did not realize who you were and have treated you appallingly. Please, I beg your forgiveness.”_

Her pleading words tumbled out in a great rush as she knelt before him, not even daring to look at him. Harry’s heart ached as he watched her beg his forgiveness when it really should’ve been him begging her. Gathering what strength he still had, he pushed himself up and collapsed to his knees in front of her. His strength gave out and it was only Alassë catching him that kept him from face-planting on the floor.

“No,” he said firmly, even as he leaned heavily against Alassë. “ _It is I who should be begging your forgiveness. I have failed you. I have been a lazy and petulant student and you treated me as one. You have done nothing to be ashamed of, and I have done everything.”_

He managed to prop himself upright and looked into Alassë’s confused eyes, searching for some glimpse of understanding and compassion. With strong, careful hands she helped him to sit up on the bed and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of their reversal. He had come to help her, and yet here he sat, needing her help. Awkwardly, Alassë clasped her hands in front of her and stood over him, for the first time since Harry had met her seeming unsure of herself. He gestured to the space on the bed next to him, but instead she took the empty chair, her sharp eyes watching him, propped on the edge like she was about to catch him at any moment.

“ _Should I call for a healer, Tárnya?”_ she asked.

“No, I just need to rest a bit,” Harry murmured. “Healing is still difficult.”

Alassë frowned, shaking her head. “Then why did you waste your strength?”

“I did it to help,” he retorted, a bit petulantly. He didn’t remember Hrávon being so ungrateful for his help. But then he’s also collapsed almost right away. Maybe the fact that he was still awake meant he was getting better, becoming stronger. His eyes were heavy but he fought to stay awake, even as the bed threatened to rise up and envelope him in soft sheets and a warm blanket.

“You should return to your home.”

 _‘If only I could,’_ Harry thought privately.

“Where is Roimon? Is he not your guardian?”

“Apparently not anymore,” Harry replied, nodding towards Tulco, who had remained standing in the corner the entire time, a stone statue watching over the room. He hadn’t moved a muscle the entire time, nor had he made any sort of sound. Harry had forgotten he was there, though he doubted Alassë hadn’t noticed.

“ _Your Tar-Eldatur must return to his quarters to rest. Escort him back with care.”_

Harry was certain Tulco would ignore her, just as he’d ignored everything Harry had said since they first met. But incredibly enough Tulco moved around to the side of the bed and wrapped an arm under Harry’s shoulder, pulling him up with a great deal of care for one who seemed so rough and callous. Harry had little chance of walking on his own and with Tulco keeping him upright, he could only go where the guardian led as they began to make slow, steady progress away from the healing house. Alassë saw them to the door before she stopped.

“ _Forgive me, Tárnya, but I must stay behind for the healers. I will meet you at the training grounds in three days.”_

Harry nodded, not having the strength to explain to her Ornon’s dismissal. She would learn of it soon enough, no doubt. But perhaps in three days, Harry might be able to convince Ornon the change his mind. He was convinced that he’d taken the first step today. As Tulco half-dragged, half-carried him back to Sailano’s house, Harry felt that he at last had a pathway to follow. He could not see all the way to the end, but he could see just far enough ahead and for now that would be enough. When they returned to Sailano’s home the house was empty, both Lord Sailano and Narwien away on other business. It mattered only that Harry didn’t have to explain where he’d been or what he’d been doing and for that he was thankful. Tulco escorted him to his room and he happily collapsed onto the bed, not even caring that Tulco once more took up his position inside the door, watching over him.

When Harry awoke again he felt sore and still a bit weary but he’d regained some of his strength and his magic no longer felt thin or stretched. As he stood and did a few exercises to work out his stiff muscles, he knew what his next move had to be. His pathway was clear and his hands were steady as he reached into the trunk at the base of the bed and pulled out the sword, his grandfather’s sword. It hummed with energy, but rather than frightening him as it had when he’d first touched the weapon, it invigorated him and he set the sword on his bed as he turned to the wardrobe.

Rather than reaching for the simple tunics on the right he went straight for a coat of rich red and gold and tall black boots without a scuff on them. Tulco watched him as he dressed in the clothes befitting his title before strapping the sword to his waist. Then as a finishing touch he reached into the hidden shelf in the wardrobe and took a shining gold circlet with a deep ruby that sat just over his eyes. As he looked over his appearance in the mirror, he stopped short. There was nothing of Harry Potter left. The fourteen year-old wizard with glasses and unwanted fame was gone, and in his place stood a strong, young Eldar. Rather than hunching over to avoid being seen, he stood tall and proud with his hand resting on the ruby pommel of his sword, drawing strength from the Tar-Eldatur who wielded the sword before him.

It was disconcerting and for a moment he wavered. What he was about to do was so far from anything he’d ever done; was so different from what he’d first planned. He hadn’t come to Métimalondë because he wanted to. He hadn’t wanted any of this, and a part of him had thought that perhaps he’d wake up one day and still be in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, or better yet in his bed in Gryffindor Tower with Ron telling him to get up before he missed his first class. But it was a lie. Harry had been doing a lot of lying since he’d come. He’d lied to Hrávon about who he was, and Alassë. He’d lied to all of the eldar of Métimalondë who continued on as a shadow of what they once were. The Tar-Eldatur possessed _naitë olos_ , the ability to know the truth. But first he had to tell the truth.

And so Harry smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in his coat and with purposeful strides left his room and made his way to Sailano’s office where he was sure to find the lord. He knocked and heard the reply to enter before he opened the door and stepped purposefully inside. Sailano sat behind his desk, but he looked up as Harry entered and his normal passive veneer was broken. Instead he looked over Harry’s formal dress with confusion.

“Is there something I can do for you, _Tárnya_?” he asked, standing carefully.

“Assemble the Council, Lord Sailano,” Harry said, careful to make his voice strong and sure despite the nervousness rumbling in his stomach.

“Of course, _Tárnya_ , but, may I ask what the reason is, so I can include it in my summons?”

“I would prefer to speak to all, equally, Lord Sailano. Please summon the Council.”

Lord Sailano inclined his head respectfully. “Yes, _Tárnya_ , right away.”

“I will meet you at the Hall of the Council.” And with his final words he turned and left, not waiting to see if Sailano agreed or disagreed.

It was dusk as Harry left Sailano’s house for the Hall of the Council. Most eldar were retiring to their homes for the night but there were a few still on the street and each and every one of them stopped and stared openly as Harry walked swiftly and openly down the street, dressed in the splendor of Carastar Builder. It had been many years since any eldar had seen such a vision and they quickly inclined their heads as he passed. Word spread as he made his way through Métimalondë and although there were only a few on the street as he left Sailano’s house, but the time he arrived at the Hall of the Council the streets were buzzing as if it were noontide and others looked down from windows and balconies, all murmuring and staring. He was grateful to enter the Hall of the Council where none dared to go without permission and where he could leave behind the hundreds of eyes and focus on what he was about to do.

“Stay by the door,” he ordered Tulco and to his amazement the guardian obeyed, taking up a post by the main entrance and allowing Harry to walk down the length of the hall without his living shadow. He boots echoed around the empty chamber as he strode down the hall to the long table where the seven chairs stood empty. Stepping around the table, he ran his fingers across the backs of the chairs, lingering over the swirling patterns that were echoed in his robes and armor. His heart beat in his throat as he arrived at the center chair with its layer of dust. With a wave of his hand the dust lifted itself from the chair and leapt into the wind to be carried off once more, leaving the seat as clean as the other six. Carefully Harry pulled the chair away from the table and sat, looking out over the hall from the same place his grandfather and great-grandfather and every other Tar-Eldatur had. What had they thought, as they sat and listened to their people, made decisions that would affect thousands of lives? Had they been as nervous as he was now? Had they felt doubtful? Scared?

_‘Né, yónya.’_

Harry leapt to his feet, startled by the sudden words in a voice that he had never heard before. He looked down the hall to Tulco, but the guardian stood as he always did and had not spoken. Gingerly, Harry sat down again, looking around for another but knowing it was not the living who had spoken.

_‘Haru? Carastar?’_

The deep voice chuckled and the sound hummed in Harry’s chest as if he was the one who was chuckling.

_‘You are clever, yónya. You have your father in you. Oirandur was right.’_

_‘You aren’t in my mind too, are you?’_ Harry asked silently. He was beginning to feel like he was going mad with all the voices in his head. Having James’ memories was strange enough, but if he had Carastar too...

_‘No, I am not in your mind. I am but an echo from a time long gone. You sit where many Tar-Eldatur have sat before. And we too felt, at one time, as you do now. But fear not, yónya, for you too are not alone. As we had the echoes of the Tar-Eldatur who came before us to guide our thoughts and decisions, so too do you.’_

The ruby on the pommel of Harry’s sword flared before settling once more. Tentatively, Harry touched the ruby and as his fingers made contact with the jewel, he began to hear a distant murmur of voices, echoing similar sentiments. Instinctively he knew each voice, from Carastar, to Varyar who had first built this hall and all of Métimalondë as a haven for his people, all the way back to Minyacundo the very first Tar-Eldatur.

 _‘Áva caurë, Haldanár,’_ Minyacundo said. Do not fear.

In that moment the voices settled and Harry stood as he heard footsteps approaching the entrance. Tulco’s hand went to his sword but it was not needed as the doors opened and the council members entered. Oirandur came first and as he spotted Harry standing before the seat of the Tar-Eldatur, he smiled with pride and inclined his head as so many others had before. Mendenis came next and she looked over him in his fine clothes as if she was looking right through them to Harry’s heart and deciding whether they truly reflected what was within. Nyarmo and Sailano also bowed briefly as Oirandur did but as Ornon entered he looked at Harry with a cold glare, bordering on contempt. Harry rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, drawing on the strength of the Tar-Eldatur as he nodded to Ornon. Rávener was the last to enter, and Harry knew he would be the worst. He caught one sight of Harry and immediately spoke up.

“What is the meaning of this, calling us from our homes at this hour?”

Harry stepped around the table deliberately to meet the Council in the center of the hall. They all naturally fell into a circle with Harry at the top.

“I have called the Council together to speak on a matter that is very important, not only to myself, but to the Eldar.” He took a deep breath and slowly met the gazes of each of the Council members who stood around him.

“I stood before you some time ago, ignorant of my duty and my people and you gave me one month to learn. I failed. I shirked my responsibility, neglected my lessons, and even wielded my magic against my fellow eldar. I could not have failed you any more.”

Rávener snorted in derision. “I fail to see why this—“

“I am not finished, my lord,” Harry replied firmly. “I failed to meet your deadline and for this I can only ask your forgiveness. There is none to blame but my own unwillingness to embrace who I was and my stubbornness to cling to who I am not. But I come before you now.”

He raised his chin and looked Rávener dead in the eye. “ _I have broken the seals on my mind and the memories of Yalmëtur, Carastar, and all of the past Tar-Eldatur flow through me. I have learned the protocols and history of the Eldar. I speak the language of my fathers as if it were my native tongue. But more importantly, I have learned that it is the duty of the Tar-Eldatur to place his people before all else, even at the expense of his own strength. At all times he is a shield for the Eldar, their greatest guardian and guide. He must always seek to maintain the Balance and keep nothing for himself.”_

“And how have you proven this, Haldanár?” Mendenis asked.

In that moment the doors to the Hall of the Council opened once more. In one swift movement, Tulco moved to intercept the intruders, but Harry recognized them.

“ _Vá, Tulco_ ,” he ordered and the guardian froze in mid-step, his sword already drawn. Little Veryë stood staring up at the enormous guardian with her small hands wrapped around the wrists of Alassë and Hrávon, of all people.

“ _Veryë? What are you doing_?” Harry asked.

“ _I brought them for you, Tar-Eldatur!”_ Veryë replied as she excitedly dragged the two eldar into the circle. “ _I knew that you needed them here and I brought them. You forgot.”_

Harry smiled, kneeling down and placing his hand on her small shoulder in thanks. _“Mai acäriel, Veryë.”_ You did well. He stood and took her hand, drawing her to his side as he addressed Hrávon and Alassë.

“ _Málonya_.” My friends. “ _I need your help.”_

They nodded in understanding, Hrávon a bit reluctantly as he looked around the circle at the expectant Council members.

“ _Council members you asked me how I can prove myself. Hrávon and Alassë have both been part of my journey. Hrávon has taught me how to scout and hunt, but more importantly he taught me what it was to be eldar, to be in Balance and part of the world around me._

_“Alassë was my training partner, endeavoring to teach me how to defend myself and my fellow eldar. But she suffered greatly when, in my anger, I attacked her with uncontrolled magic. Ornon Herumacil has no doubt informed you of this incident. I have since sought her forgiveness and used my gift of healing and although I know it can never right the wrong I have done, I pray that she may one day forgive me for my grievous offense.”_

The Council members looked to Hrávon and Alassë. Ornon in particular was shocked to see Alassë awake and walking with no assistance.

“ _And is this true, Alassë Varyar?_ ” Mendenis asked.

“ _It is, Mendenis Heri,”_ Alassë replied without hesitation. “ _The Tar-Eldatur healed my body and mind and he…asked my forgiveness which I have given whole-heartedly.”_

 _“And you, Hrávon Cestar?”_ Oirnadur asked.

Hrávon was not so quick to answer as Alassë and Harry knew Rávener was preparing to speak out once more.

“ _I did not know Haldanár as the Tar-Eldatur until very recently. But what he says is true, I did teach him the ways of a scout and tracker and we did speak of the Eldar and the Balance. Although during much of our friendship he withheld the truth from me, I believe that Haldanár has since learned from his mistakes.”_ Hrávon looked to each one of the Council members in turn before returning to Oirandur.

 _“If he says that he stands ready, then he is ready and I will stand by him.”_ And Hrávon deliberately moved to stand at Harry’s right, Alassë mirroring him on the left. Hrávon smirked and winked at him as Harry nodded his thanks to his friends before returning his attention to the Council.

“Very well,” Mendenis said at last. “Then Haldanár, what do you propose?”

Harry stepped forward into the circle, standing with his feet firmly grounded and his hands folded behind his back like a soldier at parade rest.

“ _I, Haldanár, son of Yalmëtur, son of Carastar, stand before you ready to assume my responsibilities as Tar-Eldatur, to sit on this Council, to serve, to protect, to nurture, to maintain the Balance, and should the time come, to give my life for the Eldar. This I will hold as my solemn oath all the days of my life. What say you?”_

Oirandur stepped into the circle first. “ _I say you are Tar-Eldatur.”_

Nyarmo was next. “ _I say you are Tar-Eldatur.”_

Sailano, “ _I say you are Tar-Eldatur.”_

Ornon did not step forward immediately, but rather met Harry’s gaze and seemed to search for something within him. It was the longest Ornon had ever held his gaze until at last he stepped forward and declared,

“ _I say you are Tar-Eldatur.”_

Harry bowed his head in thanks before moving on to the one he knew would be the hardest. Rávener stood with his hands folded across his chest and his mouth set in a haughty grimace as if he felt himself above the proceedings. Harry forced his annoyance and impatience down and stood passively before the eldar, waiting patiently.

“ _I am still not convinced you are Tar-Eldatur.”_

Harry inclined his head, even though beneath his cool demeanor he seethed with frustration and irritation. Still, he turned away from Rávener to Mendenis, the last of the Council to speak. She was smiling, and Harry wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign.

“What is your name, child?” she asked simply.

“Haldanár, son of Yalmëtur.”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“And are you the Tar-Eldatur?”

Harry knew his answer the last time he’d been asked this question, but he also knew that while it may have been the truth at the time, it was not his truth now.

“The Eldar is the Tar-Eldatur.”

And Mendenis’s smile grew even wider as she bowed deeply.

“ _I say_ you _are Tar-Eldatur.”_


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

With a heavy sigh, Hermione slumped down into the chair by Ron, Ginny, and Neville, tossing her bag down at her feet. The three of them stared at the discarded bag and then back at Hermione with shock.

“Uh, Hermione? Are you feeling okay?” Neville asked tentatively.

“We have to do something,” she declared. “She can’t be allowed to continue on like this.”

“But there’s nothing we _can_ do,” Ginny replied quietly. “I mean, look at Trelawney. And you’ve seen the marks on Fred and George’s hands.”

Hermione growled in frustration.

“We can’t just sit back and _let_ her ruin everything. Umbridge has to be stopped.”

Never in her life had Hermione uttered such words about a teacher. Even when Harry had thought Snape was the one after the Sorcerer’s Stone. A teacher was someone who was meant to know better, whom you were supposed to respect. But not Umbridge. That vile, toad of a woman was trying to sabotage the entire school and Hermione would not stand for it. Not in her OWL year.

It started their very first day of class when Umbridge had stood at the front of the classroom and told them to put away their wands, that they would not be doing any practical work in Defense Against the Dark Arts that year. Hermione had protested of course. It was their OWL year and there was a practical section on the exam. But Umbridge had simpered at her like she was a child, patting her on the head and assuring her that copying a lesson over and over again would assure “maximum retention” and be more than enough to get them through their exams.

“Which is what school is all about, after all,” Umbridge assured them.

That night Hermione had called Sirius in the Gryffindor fire to ask if he knew anything about Umbridge.

“She is outspoken against creatures and what she calls ‘half-breeds’,” Sirius told her. “She is very close to Fudge, his Senior Undersecretary. As far as our intelligence has gathered, Fudge is worried that Dumbledore is after his job.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Hermione insisted.

“Yeah, anyone in their right mind would know that,” Ron added.

“But Fudge isn’t in his right mind, he’s in denial,” Sirius replied. “He doesn’t want Harry or Dumbledore to be right because then we would be at war again. We just barely survived the last time.”

“What can we do then?” Hermione asked.

“The Order can’t help you. We’ve got our hands full as it is. It looks like you’re on your own. I’m sorry, Hermione.”

Sirius’s words echoed in her mind as she looked at each of her friends.

“We need to learn how to defend ourselves. We need to practice our spells so we’re ready for whatever’s out there.”

Ron, Neville, and Ginny looked at her like she’d declared her intentions to drop out to join the circus.

“Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?” Ron demanded.

She smacked him on the arm; not lightly either.

“I’m serious!” she insisted.

“Ow! Okay I believe you! But what can _we_ do? We don’t know anything about defensive spells. Harry was the one who was good at DADA.”

Hermione sighed heavily and had to reluctantly admit that he was right. Harry would’ve been the ideal person to train them. Lupin or Sirius would’ve been her next choice, but both were busy with Order business. As Sirius said, they were on their own.

“We’ll have to teach each other.”

“Teach each other?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied firmly. “We’ll each learn a spell, research and practice it, and when we’re sure of it, we’ll teach it to the others.”

“What others?” Ron asked. “It’s just the four of us.”

Hermione grinned. “But it won’t be. If we’re frustrated by Umbridge, don’t you think others will be too? We can hold a meeting, recruit from other houses. Many minds are better than just one.”

She looked between the others with excitement, confident that this might turn the tide. But Ron and Ginny didn’t seem convinced. To her surprise, it was Neville who nodded.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

He might as well have declared his intention to elope with Hermione.

“You’re both mad,” Ron told them. But then he sighed. “I’ll talk to Fred and George. With how many detentions they’ve had, they probably hate Umbridge more than anyone. Not to mention they’re mad geniuses.”

Ginny nodded as well. “I’ve got some friends in Ravenclaw that might be interested.”

“And I can talk to Hannah about Hufflepuff,” Neville said.

It was unspoken between them that Slytherin would be avoided. Malfoy and his gang had joined the Inquisitorial Squad and though there may be some Slytherins who were against the Dark Lord, they were more likely to run into those who were for him, and Hermione didn’t think it would be a good idea to let this get out.

“We can hold a meeting on the next Hogsmeade weekend, away from Umbridge.”

For two weeks, the word was passed around, hidden deep in the undercurrents of the Hogwarts gossip stream. It was only spoken of in hushed whispers, and only to those who were the most trustworthy. Never in front of a teacher or one of the Inquisitorial Squad. Finally the weekend came where Hermione led Ron, Ginny, and Neville down an almost forgotten path out of Hogsmeade proper towards a dingy pub called the “Hog’s Head”. Upon entering and looking around, it was immediately obvious this was not the popular place to come, unless you wanted to do covert business. Hermione led them up the stairs to one of the private rooms where they removed their jackets and proceeded to wait.

“Do you think anyone will show?” Neville murmured as Ron went back down to order a few Butterbeers.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted.

They didn’t have to worry, though, as Ron returned with armfuls of grimy Butterbeer bottles, trailing Fred and George and a quiet Ravenclaw girl Hermione knew as Luna Lovegood. Her presence didn’t inspire much hope however, since she was known as a bit of an eccentric. But they were soon followed by more and more students until every chair was taken and there were more than a few standing against the walls. When the stream of students died down, Hermione stood and all eyes turned to her.

“Um, hi,” she said, her voice cracking a bit. “Thank you for coming. You’re all here because, like us you’re tired of Umbridge’s approach to Defense. You believe that practical skills are just as important. Because…”

She hesitated, looking around at the familiar and unfamiliar faces and feeling her stomach clench. This wasn’t her forte. Harry was the one who inspired others. Hermione was his bookish friend, more at home in a library than speaking in front of a crowd.

“Because _Voldemort_ is back.”

Hermione’s head whipped around in shock a Neville’s sudden declaration. There were more than a few in the room who flinched and cringed at the Dark Lord’s name, but Neville pressed on.

“Umbridge and Fudge and the Daily Prophet are lying. Voldemort is back and we need to learn how to defend ourselves.”

“And where’s the proof?” demanded Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff.

“Dumbledore says—“

“Dumbledore says because Potter says. But Potter’s gone, so where’s your proof?”

Hermione bristled at the callous accusations.

“We’re not here to talk about Harry. If you don’t believe in what we’re trying to do then leave now.”

She expected most of them to head for the door, but not a single student got up. Not even Zacharias Smith. At last Neville spoke up again.

“We’re here to prepare ourselves, to work together. We’ll all help each other and nobody will be above anyone. But it has to remain a secret. If Umbridge finds out, that will be the end. This is your last chance to back out.”

Again, nobody moved.

“Alright. Then come up and sign your name.”

Hermione had prepared for this part. They’d talked long and hard as a quartet about what they would do to ensure secrecy. Each student signed a piece of parchment that Hermione had charmed. It would be blank to anyone not part of the group, and signing would keep you from discussing the group with anyone outside of it. Together, they’d named it the “Defense Association”.

Fred and George were some of the last to sign up and they lingered after the others left until only Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville remained.

“Brilliant speech, Longbotton,” Fred said, clapping Neville on the shoulder.

“Truly inspiring. I teared up a bit,” George added.

“But now that we have that lot out of the way, let’s talk about what has to be done.”

“Umbridge has to go.”

Hermione was shocked at their bluntness. The Weasley twins always seemed to talk around their schemes. It was how they avoided getting caught, most of the time. But this was different.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Hermione! You’re supposed to be the brightest witch of your age,” Fred teased her. “The Defense Association is all well and good, but Um-bitch needs to be stopped—“

“—before she causes major damage,” George added, rubbing his hand.

Hermione winced as she saw the lingering marks from the twins’ last detention. It was a well-known fact by now that Umbridge liked to use Blood Quills in her detentions. The first time she’d witnessed the results on Fred’s hand, she’d been appalled. She urged him to go to McGonagall, but like the bull-headed Weasley that he was, he refused. She’d settled for providing both of them with essence of murtlap to ease the pain after a session. It was barbaric torture, but it seemed that there was nothing any of the professors could do. Umbridge was now Inquisitor. She could sack any professor she wanted to. She’d proved that with Trelawney.

“Don’t worry, Hermione, we have a plan,” Fred assured her.

“A campaign, really,” George said.

“What do you want us to do?” Ron asked, uncertain.

“For now, you prefects just look the other way,” Fred told them. “Shouldn’t be too hard since you’re involved in an unauthorized club.”

“And be ready, because we could call on you at any moment.”

Hermione shifted, feeling more than a little uncertain about all of this. But Fred and George seemed confident in what they were going to do, and she doubted she’d be able to convince them otherwise. In truth, she wasn’t certain she had a right to try and stop them. They’d been tortured by Umbridge. If anyone in this school deserved to take their revenge, it was Fred and George. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that this was wrong.

“If you can keep her occupied and ignorant, then that will be enough for me,” she told them.

Fred and George grinned.

“Oh, trust us, Hermione,” George assured her. “Searching out a secret student club will be the least of her worries.”

It was another week before Fred and George began their first strikes. The news was all over the school by lunch time and even Hermione found herself grinning. Umbridge had returned from breakfast to find a niffler had gotten into her office and trashed it. The door was still locked and warded; nobody knew how it had gotten in. In Defense class Umbridge had seemed a bit frazzled, but she’d only taken her nerves out on the class, informing them they would be required to copy the text an extra time this class because “some” were not “achieving the necessary retention”.

From then on, Umbridge’s office would be regularly trashed, at least once a week as more and more nifflers managed to find their way into the office. Umbridge’s security increased, but it made little difference and it was quickly becoming a school-wide joke. But more importantly, whispers began to circulate that Umbridge wasn’t as powerful as she thought she was, if she couldn’t even ward her office properly.

Amid the activity, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville tried to find another place where they could hold a Defense Association, or DA, meeting. The Hog’s Head wouldn’t work. It was too small and hard to get so many students out of the castle unseen. The Shrieking Shack was dismissed for similar reasons. Hermione originally thought an empty classroom might do, but it was quickly determined to be too obvious, not to mention easily found.

It was Neville who stumbled upon the Come-And-Go room, also known as the Room of Requirement. Hermione had read about it in Hogwarts: A History, of course, but she’d never known where it was nor how to enter. Neville had come across it rather accidentally, while pacing the seventh floor and wracking his brain for a location. It was perfect, they decided. Only those who knew about the DA could enter because only those who knew would know what to ask for. And so, three weeks after their initial recruitment, the first official meeting of the Defense Association occurred.

The Room of Requirement provided everything they could need, from books about Defensive magic to targets and cushions for practicing. The first meeting they gathered everyone together and asked for volunteers to teach. Surprisingly, almost every hand was raised and they’d quickly divvied up assignments.

“Expelliarmus?” Zacharias scoffed. “I thought we’d be learning how to properly defend ourselves.”

Hermione bristled but it was Ron who jumped to the defense.

“Expelliarmus is the spell Harry used to escape You-Know-Who, you tosspot,” he growled.

“Not to mention it’s an important, non-lethal spell to know and difficult to get right,” Hermione added.

“I’ll research it,” Ron said. “Fred, you take Stunning.”

 They spent the first meeting gathered around the tables, paging through books, excitedly talking over techniques and strategies with others. As Hermione looked over the group, she couldn’t help but feel excited and proud. This is what Harry would’ve loved. She was sure of it. Now she had to work on her own spell. Nobody else had thought they could handle the Patronus Charm, so Hermione had volunteered. She had a lot of research to do.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17:

Harry’s collar was a noose around his neck as he shoved his fingers under the fabric and tugged, trying to get some air. It felt hot and stuffy inside the small antechamber but he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Instead he paced the length of the room that felt like it was the size of the cupboard under the stairs where he’d lived the first part of his life. He found himself counting the clicks of his boots on the floor. Seven clicks one way, turn and seven clicks back. He must’ve counted over a thousand steps, but he couldn’t sit still.

He was dressed to the nines. He hadn’t worn anything so formal since the Yule Ball. That had been a disaster. His tunic was crisp white under a golden coat with a high collar that scratched his chin if he turned his head too far. His tan trousers were tucked into black boots. Propped up in a chair by the wall sat his grandfather’s sword, shining and polished just for the occasion. Narwien had helped him choose his clothes for today and Harry had spent most of the night polishing his grandfather’s sword, knowing everything had to be perfect for today. He owed it to the Eldar.

Just beyond the door of the antechamber was the Council hall in which every eldar in Métimalondë, and even more than a few of the travelling clans, had gathered. Today was the day he was presented as Tar-Eldatur. Out of force of habit, Harry reached up and tried to smooth down his black hair, but it was little use. That, at least, remained the same. As he came once more to the end of the room, he found himself pausing, staring at the door that he would pass through not long from now. Not for the first time that day, he wished that Ron and Hermione were there. He could really use them at the moment; their support and assurance that this was the right thing. It was the right thing. It felt like the right thing. The Eldar deserved to know the truth, to have hope. That’s what today was all about. To instill hope once more.

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Enter.”

Narwien entered, looking beautiful in a pale blue gown. Her red hair hung in gentle waves over her shoulder and down her back. Her long dress just brushed the ground, flowing over it like it was insubstantial.

“Are you ready, Tárnya?” she asked kindly.

Harry swallowed and tugged at his collar once more before nodding.

Narwien smiled gently, lending support in her own way. She looked over his clothing one last time.

“You look like Minyacundo reborn, Tárnya,” she declared at last. With soft, measured steps she padded over to the chair where his sword lay and picked it up, bringing it to him to fasten around his waist. Harry took it and wrapped the belt around his hips, but found his fingers becoming caught up in the buckle. Narwien’s hands brushed his aside gently and did up the buckle with a few sure, measured motions.

“Do _you_ think this is a good idea?” Harry asked, his mouth dry. He felt like he’d asked everyone else so far, and with the exception of Rávener they’d all agreed.

“I believe you are a very kind and caring person, Tárnya, and you have the potential to be as powerful as Minyacundo, as wise as Varyar, and as loved as Carastar.” Her hands fell away from his waist and she tucked them away in the long bell-sleeves of her gown. “Only time will tell.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll mess up? That I’ll cause the Eldar more suffering?”

“No, Tárnya. I am not afraid.”

“How can you not be?”

“Because _you_ are afraid you will ‘mess up’. That’s how I know I need not fear.”

She stepped back, bowing her head slightly before gesturing towards the door.

“It is time, Tárnya.”

Harry exhaled slowly, like he was preparing for an important Quidditch match. _The biggest Quidditch match of my life_ , Harry thought sardonically.

“Okay.”

Harry wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he finally entered the Hall of the Council. Part of him was still expecting only a few people and the Council members. He almost stopped in his tracks when he looked out to see a sea of eldar, each and every one of them staring at him. They didn’t clap or cheer, only watched as he walked past all of them to the long table where the other Council members waited. It was like his Sorting at Hogwarts all over again; he was a nervous first-year who hadn’t been expecting this sort of attention, striding past thousands who were all watching and measuring him against their expectations. As a first-year, Harry had ducked his head and been only too happy to slip the Sorting Hat over his head so he didn’t have to see everyone staring at him.

But it was different now. _He_ was different. Gripping the pommel of his sword and feeling the echoes of the Tar-Eldatur before him, he walked confidently down the thin aisle, his head held high. His eyes never wavered from his destination, the Council table where Mendenis, Oirandur, Sailano, Ornon, Nyarmo, and Rávener waited for him. The Hall of the Council wasn’t big but it felt longer than the Great Hall until at last he came to stand before Mendenis. The eldar inclined her head briefly to him before she addressed the room at large.

“ _Nearly twenty years ago, the line of the Tar-Eldatur was broken. Our great king, Carastar, was slain by the False Lord and his Death Eaters destroyed our cities and slaughtered our people. With none to maintain the Balance, it fell to the High Council to maintain the Balance to protect the Eldar. In that time, we have never stopped searching for the blood of the Tar-Eldatur._

_“Alasse ontari az ontaro! Alasse hánor az néthar! Alasse meldor az melder! Through the tireless searching of our hunters and the faithful service of Lord Sailano Kemenion, the blood of the Tar-Eldatur has returned. Ela! Haldanár Yalmëturion Carastarion Tar-Eldatur.”_

As Harry turned to finally face the Eldar, he was sure they would be underwhelmed. He was a fourteen year old, dressed up in fancy clothing, trying to look like he knew what he was doing. They’d take one look at him and see through him, like Mendenis had when he’d first gone before the Council. The Hall was silent and Harry forced himself to stand firm.

‘ _Sérë, yónya,’_ Carastar whispered in his ear.

Harry was sure the silence would stretch on for eternity when suddenly a male voice called out from the crowd.

“ _Alla Tar-Eldatur!”_

 _“Alla Tar-Eldatur!”_ a female called from the other side.

“ _Alla Haldanár_ ,” Little Veryë called from her mother’s hip in the second row.

And like flood waters crashing through a dam, the hall erupted into yells of triumph and support and the crowd surged forward, order and decorum forgotten as they drove to meet their Tar-Eldatur. Hundreds of hands descended on him at once, welcoming him, encouraging him, and over and over he heard “ _Alla Tar-Eldatur” and “Amatulya Melda-tár”_. He tried to respond to everyone, but it was no use, and so he found himself repeating his reply over and over again to nobody in particular and everybody at once.

“ _Mai omentaina, mai omentaina_.” Well met.

Slowly he pushed through the crowd until he was at the very heart and found himself smiling, surrounded by those who accepted him wholeheartedly as their Tar-Eldatur. He raised his hands and those around him quieted and the silence rolled out from the center until the Hall was peaceful once more.

“ _Ontari az ontaro, hánor az néthar, meldor az melder, my heart sings to see you all. I stand before you, ready to serve. Ready to protect the Balance. Ready to stand between the Eldar and the False Lord. This is my solemn oath to you. I will not let you fall.”_

The cheers of the Eldar coalesced into one thunderous voice, chanting over and over again. _“Alla Tar-Eldatur, Alla Tar-Eldatur!”_ Despite the din, Harry heard the proud voice of his father.

“ _Mai acáriel,_ Harry.”

Before long the Hall of the Council could no longer contain the joy of the Eldar, and so the crowd flooded out into the streets where food and drink was quickly brought forth and music struck up on all corners. Amidst the party, Harry was at last able to slip away, back into the Hall where the Council remained. Sailano met him first and in a rare display of familiarity, pulled him into a hug.

“You cannot understand what this means, Tárnya,” he murmured for Harry’s ears only. “ _Hantanyel_.”

Harry pulled back, looking Sailano in the eye. “Without you I never would’ve known about any of this. _Hantanyel, Sailano Heru_.” They broke apart and Harry greeted the rest of the Council.

“Well, you’ve done it,” Mendenis said frankly. “There’s no going back now.”

“I wouldn’t want to, Mendenis Saira.”

The older eldar snorted. “Enough pleasantries. You now lead us. What is your first order of business?”

Harry nodded. He’d known that assuming his title would mean he actually had to take responsibility and lead. He’d thought about what he was going to do long and hard in the last week since he’d gone before the Council.

“Voldemort has returned,” he said. “I have faced him; I faced him shortly before Lord Sailano found me. He is weak yet, but he will be gaining strength. The Eldar will not survive if he attacks us again. We must prepare.”

Rávener spoke up immediately. “And do you intend to take us to _war_ , Tar-Eldatur? We have lived for centuries in peace.”

“No,” Harry declared. “I won’t risk the Eldar in an open war. Voldemort is too strong. But we must be prepared. Ornon, with your permission, I would like to being training again.”

All looked to the Herumacil, waiting on his reply.

“I have spoken to Alassë on this matter,” Ornon said slowly. “She wishes to continue to serve as your training partner. After due consideration, I have decided to grant her request, with the condition that I alone instruct you in offensive and defensive magic. Should you lose yourself again, I will not be lenient.”

Harry bowed in thanks. “I would wish for nothing less, Herumacil.”

“In the meantime, we need to know what Voldemort is up to. We need to know how strong he is, and most importantly, we need to make sure he remains unaware of us, until we are strong enough to fight him.”

Harry turned to Tulco who was by the door with another guardian Harry didn’t know. “Please go find Hrávon.”

Tulco glanced at the other guardian before nodding and leaving the other guardian to stand watch. It was only a few moments before Tulco returned, trailing an uncertain Hrávon in his wake. He bowed respectfully as he joined the Council and Harry and Tulco returned to his post by the door.

“Hrávon, is a scout who grew up in the human world with one of the travelling clans. He is trustworthy and loyal.” Harry turned to Hrávon and some of the confidence he’d been projecting fell away until it was like they’d been before, with just the two of them in the woods.

“I know this is dangerous. But, we can’t sit back and wait for something to happen. I want you to lead a group of scouts to gather information about Voldemort.”

“This scout is barely into his majority,” Rávener protested. “And he’s from a travelling clan.”

“Which makes him best for the job,” Harry insisted. “Hrávon already knows about the human world, how to blend in and move around without attracting attention.”

“This could very well cause what you were hoping to avoid,” Nyarmo added. “If Voldemort is ignorant of our survival, and catches one of our scouts, he will know beyond a doubt that we live.”

“Tárnya, there are many other scouts who would be better suited for this task,” Ornon said. “More experienced with knowledge of the Death Eaters from the last war.”

“But Hrávon has something that they don’t,” Harry replied firmly. He reached over and clasped Hrávon on the shoulder. “I trust him with my life, and the lives of the Eldar.”

“You don’t need to decide now, but I need to know soon. I know this is asking a lot. And I know the dangers, but we can’t stay out of this anymore.”

“And why not?” Rávener demanded. “If the False Lord thinks we’re gone, then I see no reason to prove otherwise to him, or any wizard.”

“Because I am not only Tar-Eldatur. I’m Harry Potter. I’ve faced Voldemort before and I know he’s never going to stop. He will destroy everything, especially to get to me.”


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

_A long, dark hallway stretched out before him. Black tiles covered the walls, or was it the ceiling? It seemed to stretch on forever as he moved down the hall, until it stopped at a black door. Locked. Wouldn’t be a problem. A hissed word and the lock clicked and the door swung open, inviting him in. Just beyond were rows upon rows of silvery orbs, suspended on shelves and swirling dimly in the strange blue light. He was here for one of them, but not those closest to him. He slipped down the row, past thousands of the glowing orbs, intent on his search. But there was something unexpected._

_Just up ahead, a faint, silvery light shone from down the next row, moving slowly but methodically. Someone else was here, someone unexpected. Silently, he slipped around the shelf and with barely a warning, attacked._

Harry shouted, leaping from his bed, and Tulco drew his sword, eyes scanning the room for a threat. But there was nothing and Tulco relaxed as Harry heaved, trying to drag in deep breaths around the nausea in his stomach.

“Get…Sailano…” he wheezed.

When Tulco returned with Sailano and Narwien, Harry was breathing easier, but he was still shaking and covered in sweat like he had just completed a training session with Alassë.

“Tárnya,” Sailano said, concerned. “What has happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry admitted. The more time that passed, the less clear the dream became. Though it was too lucid to be only a dream.

“I think I saw someone killed.”

“Who? One of your scouts?”

“No. A wizard. The light, it was from a _Lumos_ spell. I couldn’t see his face but…he was in trouble.”

Sailano sighed heavily in relief. “At least it was not one of our scouts.”

But Harry looked at him incredulously. “We have to try to help him!”

“Help _who_ , Tárnya? An unknown wizard, far beyond our borders? Do you know where he is? How can you be certain he is there now? It was not uncommon for the Tar-Eldatur to have premonitions.”

Anger and frustration burned in Harry’s chest, but it wasn’t because Sailano was suggesting they do nothing. No, it was because he was right. Harry _didn’t_ know the hallway he’d seen. He didn’t know who the wizard was, or even if what he’d been seeing was happening in that moment, or would happen in the time to come. Or maybe it was just a bad dream, like he’d had after the Third Task.

And yet, Harry found himself reaching up to rub his scar, which had been growing more and more irritated in the last few months since he’d been announced as Tar-Eldatur. He’d shrugged off Alassë’s curious looks and Sailano’s concerned questions. His scar had been more active since Voldemort’s return. It made sense; Harry had learned long ago that his scar was somehow linked to Voldemort in some way. It terrified him, but it was also a useful warning, one that Harry had learned to heed during his time at Hogwarts.

“We must be vigilant, Tárnya,” Sailano said, assuring, “but we cannot be hasty in our actions.”

Reluctantly, Harry agreed. But as Sailano and Narwien left him to try to get some sleep the rest of the night, he couldn’t help but rub his scar again, trying to work out the burning sensation that had been growing in strength. He was worried for Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and all of his friends left behind in the Wizarding World. Not for the first time, he wished he had some way of contacting them, or better yet, bringing them into the haven of Métimalondë. As Tulco returned to his post by the door (it seemed his dutiful guard _never_ slept), Harry settled in for a night of restlessness as he desperately tried to remember his dream and see the face of his victim.

 

Hermione was confused when Ginny woke her up in the middle of the night with Professor McGonagall and told her to get dressed and come with them. She’d hastily thrown on jeans and a jumper and shoved her wand in her pocket before descending the stairs to the Gryffindor common room where she found the Ron, Fred, and George already waiting for her, scrubbing sleep from their bleary eyes.

“What’s going on?” Ron mumbled.

“Professor Dumbledore will explain,” McGonagall replied. “Quickly now.”

She led them from Gryffindor Tower at a pace just shy of frantic. It was as they climbed the stairs that Hermione noticed Professor McGonagall was in her nightgown with a dressing robe thrown over it. The sun was not yet shining through the eastern windows, therefore it was at least before five in the morning. The gargoyle in front of Dumbledore’s office sprang aside at the very first syllable of the password and McGonagall hurried them up the spiral stairs to Dumbledore’s office where she knocked just twice before opening the door and ushering them inside.

Dumbledore himself was speaking lowly with one of the portraits of a former Headmaster, whom Hermione recognized at Phineas Nigellus Black. He was one of Sirius’ ancestors; she remembered seeing a portrait of his at Grimmauld Place. Snape was also present, sitting heavily in one of the chairs rather than pacing or standing in the corner as he had the last time Hermione had seen him in the Headmaster’s office. He looked horrible. Hermione noted his slumped posture and the way he seemed to favor his right side before he noticed their presence and straightened up, shooting one of his normal scowls at them for good measure.

It was his presence that worried Hermione the most.

“Has something happened to Harry?” she asked McGonagall frantically.

“No, Miss Granger,” McGonagall replied. “We have not received any word of Mr. Potter. Albus?”

Dumbledore abruptly cut off his conversation with Phineas Nigellus, seeming to only then realize he had others in his office. He looked over Ron and his siblings and Hermione thought she saw sorrow and pity behind those half-moon spectacles.

“I am sorry to wake you at such a late hour, but this could not wait until morning. Earlier this night, Arthur Weasley was attacked while on Order business.”

Ginny let out a choked cry and Hermione found herself reaching for Ron’s hand instinctively.

“What do you mean he was attacked?” Fred demanded. “Is he—?”

“He is still alive, but only thanks to the efforts of Professor Snape. He was able to learn of Voldemort’s plans and counteract his snake’s venom long enough for your father to be taken to St. Mungo’s.”

“He was _bitten_?” Ron blurted out.

“Yes. He is currently at St. Mungo’s Hospital where healers are keeping in a magically-induced coma to slow the venom’s progress while they try to counteract it. In light of this attack, I have decided it best you do not wait for the Hogwarts Express, but rather travel to Grimmauld Place tonight.”

“But, Professor, won’t that raise suspicions?” Hermione asked.

“Arthur Weasley’s admittance to St. Mungo’s is no secret. It is only fitting that his children leave, to be with him. Now, gather-round.” The Headmaster picked up a blackened kettle from his desk and waved his wand before handing it to Hermione and the others. The next moment, they felt the familiar jerk of a portkey just behind their navels before they landed in the hallway of Twelve Grimmauld Place. Hermione stumbled a bit and was caught by Sirius, who’d been standing nearby.

“Where is our mother?” Ron asked him.

“She’s at St. Mungo’s right now,” Sirius replied. “You’ll join her in a few hours. In the meantime, try to get some rest.”

“Unlikely,” Ron grumbled, but he wrapped his arm around Ginny and the two of them began climbing the stairs towards their rooms, Fred and George just behind them. Hermione watched them go before turning to Sirius.

“Any news from Harry?”

“Nothing,” Sirius replied.

“I thought…when I saw Snape…”

“Snape? What does he have to do with Harry?”

Hermione bit her lip, realizing that she might have just given away a secret that was not hers to tell.

“He was there—that is, he knew about Harry. I just—I don’t know what I thought. I’m worried for him and Mr. Weasley and…everything is just…” She choked back a sob that she’d been holding in since the Headmaster’s office. Uncertainly, Sirius let her lean her head against his shoulder and pat her awkwardly on the back but it only seemed to increase her tears. Months of holding everything back, about Umbridge, the Defense Association, Harry, Voldemort, not to mention her O.W.L.s were coming up in just a few short months and she was nowhere close to where she’d hoped to be.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sirius said. Tentatively he pulled back and when there was no fresh wave of tears he sighed a little in relief. “Arthur is going to be okay. You’ll see. We’re going to win this, Hermione. And Harry will come back and be annoyed he missed the fight.” He grinned cheekily at her and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh despite her red eyes and runny nose.

“I should go to bed,” she said at last. “Check on Ginny.”

Sirius nodded and disappeared down into the kitchen as she ascended the stairs. Ginny was in their room, tucked into her bed with Ron sitting next to her with one arm slung over her shoulders. She was asleep, but Ron was still awake, staring at the wall. He looked at her when she came in and took a seat on her own bed across from him.

“I’m sorry, Ron,” she murmured. “He’ll be okay. St. Mungo’s has some of the best healers in the world. They’ll figure out an antivenin.”

Ron simply nodded and went back to staring at the wall.

“You should try to get some sleep. Your mother will need you in the morning.”

Again Ron nodded as he settled in beside Ginny, but Hermione knew he wouldn’t be sleeping. She wouldn’t have been able to sleep if it had been her father in St. Mungo’s. Sleep was eluding her even now, as her mind raced with all of the possible ways to help Mr. Weasley. Getting some of the snake’s venom would be impossible; Hermione got the feeling Voldemort’s snake was not just any snake. The best they would be able to do was to try to drawl out the venom and deal with the symptoms it caused. She wasn’t sure of what they were exactly, but could think of a few that would help with normal snake bites. Perhaps she could brew them tomorrow? But St. Mungo’s was a hospital, no doubt with its own Potioneers that brewed all of the hospital’s potions. They would hardly need the work of an underage witch.

As Hermione rolled over, trying to get comfortable, she couldn’t help but feel completely helpless. Again.

The next day Ron and his siblings joined Mrs. Weasley at St. Mungo’s. Ron offered for Hermione to come, but Hermione declined, not wishing to intrude.

“You need to be together as a family right now,” she murmured to Ron over an early breakfast.

He protested of course, but Hermione stood firm. Instead, once Ron and the other Weasleys had left for the hospital she found herself wandering up to the library, the place she was most comfortable. It was the library of a historically Dark family, and Hermione knew there would be little in the way of healing information, but she’d look anyways because that was the way she could be the most useful.

In truth she found very little in the way of healing magic in the library, but she did find a book about rare, magical snake species that might prove useful with some further research. Instead, she turned her attention towards her Defense Association responsibility. Hermione was to learn and teach the Patronus charm, but she found herself struggling with it. While she normally took to spells rather quickly, Defense had always been Harry’s forte and while she thought she understood the theory behind the Patronus charm, she hadn’t been able to produce more than a gentle, silvery wisp. To her surprise, she did find a book in the Black family library with information about the Patronus charm and she read it cover-to-cover, taking detailed notes before she moved towards the center of the room, wand in hand once more.

“ _Expecto Patronum,_ ” she said, clearly and confidently, moving her wand in the perfect motion and thinking about reading a good book. But as always, she was only rewarded with a little bit of silver mist that quickly dissipated. That wouldn’t be able to stand up to one dementor, let alone hundreds like Harry’s had in third year. Frustrated, Hermione planted her feet again and thought of something else. Getting an O on her O.W.L.s; that would certainly be a happy memory.

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_ she said, a bit more forcefully.

But again, she was rewarded with little.

With a huff Hermione sat back in her chair and poured over the notes she’d taken. She had to be missing something important. Was there more to the wand movement? Was she pronouncing it correctly? Perhaps she needed to focus more on the happy memory. Getting up once more, Hermione tried to focus on a happy memory. Getting her Hogwarts letter and learning she was a witch.

“ _Expecto Patronum.”_ Still, nothing.

She jumped as someone knocked on the door and turned to see Professor Lupin standing in the doorway.

“Professor? I didn’t realize you were here, sir.”

“I only just arrived. Sirius invited me for the holidays,” Lupin said. “May I come in?”

“Of course, sir! I was just working on…”

“The Patronus Charm.”

“Yes, sir. As…extra credit for uh—“

“Hermione, I am not your professor anymore. You needn’t explain anything to me.”

Hermione smiled in relief as Lupin walked over to the table and perused her notes.

“I’m having a little trouble,” she admitted when Lupin seemed impressed by the quantity of her research.

“You were always a very thorough student, Hermione,” Lupin commented. “But perhaps I can be of assistance here, if you could show me?”

Sighing, Hermione raised her wand again and brought up a happy memory, just as all of the books had told her to do. With the perfect flick of her wand, she pronounced the incantation. But only the few wisps of silver appeared and Hermione’s frustration returned.

Lupin nodded. “You have all of the mechanics right, but the Patronus Charm is very strong, Light magic. It takes more than simply having the proper wand movement. It takes intent and will.”

“I have to think of something that makes me happy.”

“Yes but not just anything will do. What are you using?”

Hermione flushed a bit. “Getting O’s on my O.W.L.s.”

That’s not nearly strong enough. Our strongest emotions, or strongest memories are rarely tied to places or things. They are often tied to people. Our parents, siblings, friends, spouses—“Lupin’s voice hitched and Hermione gave him a quizzical look, but he pressed on. “And then once you have that happy memory, you need to not only think about it. You need to relive it, let that feeling fill you and when it is at its greatest, then perform the charm.”

Hermione’s thoughts immediately went to her parents, but she didn’t think that would work. She loved her parents, but since going to Hogwarts she’d spent less and less time with them, and what time she did spend was stilted. Instead of the ease of her childhood, Hermione found herself having to stop and explain things more and more, and she didn’t dare tell them about Harry or Voldemort or any of the danger she’d faced at Hogwarts. They would’ve never allowed her to return if they knew. Instead, her mind drifted to an evening she remembered. Well, in truth it wasn’t really a specific evening. It was more an amalgamation of the many evenings she’d spent in her favorite armchair in Gryffindor tower, sitting by the fire with Harry and Ron. They were talking and laughing, the three of them together. They’d done this plenty of times but each time was special to her. Hermione had never had friends like Ron and Harry before.

“You have one,” Lupin said softly, watching her closely. “Focus on that memory, let it fill your mind. Remember how it felt. Now, try the charm.”

Hermione placed herself back in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron as she raised her wand once more.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

She’d never felt a spell like this before. It filled her and rushed through her like a hot tea after a day out in the snow or a warm hug when you’re feeling sad. In a rush of magic, a silver otter sprung from her wand and danced around the room. Hermione and Lupin laughed as the otter spun a little circle before dissipating. It had lasted for only a few seconds, but that didn’t matter. She’d done it.

“Thank you!” she breathed, wrapping her arms around Lupin in a big hug. Then the next moment she remembered who she was hugging and leapt away, embarrassed.

“That was brilliant, Hermione,” he said. “I am always amazed by what you and your friends are able to accomplish at your age.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re a much better teacher than the Umbridge woman.”

Lupin frowned “Umbridge?”

“Dolores Umbridge. That’s who is teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. She’s not letting us use magic in class and she’s already sacked Trelawney. She’s vile.”

“And you’re learning Defense on your own, behind her back. You need to be careful. Dolores Umbridge is a very dangerous woman. She hates people like me and she has the ear of the Minister. Don’t underestimate her.”

“We’re being careful.”

“’We’? There are others?”

“Well I can’t—“

“Don’t. Don’t tell me, I don’t need to know. But _please_ be careful. You don’t know what she’s capable of. I can’t believe that Dumbledore allowed her to teach—“

“Dumbledore’s hands are tied. The Ministry appointed her.”

“Then you need to have extra care. The Order of the Phoenix is not popular, and neither is Dumbledore right now. Promise me you won’t do anything that would make yourselves a target.”

They already had, but Hermione couldn’t say anything about the Defense Association. Lupin wasn’t a member and the secrecy spells were working in full force.

“I promise,” she replied. “Thank you, again, for your help.” Hermione gathered up all of her research on the Patronus Charm and with one last parting, left the library. Upon returning to her and Ginny’s room, she looked down at all of the notes she’d taken and promptly tossed them into the fire. As the parchment blackened and crumbled, Hermione thought over Lupin’s reaction to Umbridge. It had been much greater than she’d expected. Lupin seemed frightened of Umbridge, but it made little sense. Lupin was a great duelist and a strong wizard. There was no reason for him to be afraid of a toad like Umbridge.

_“Don’t underestimate her. You don’t know what she’s capable of.”_

Hermione resolved to tighten their secrecy measures after the holiday. It wouldn’t be good for Umbridge to find out about the Defense Association.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19:

“Again,” Harry panted, stalking back to his starting position as sweat dripped down his forehead. His arms burned as he lifted his sword once more to the starting guard. Alassë faced him and the two of them squared off before Alassë attacked in the now familiar combination of strikes. Harry moved quickly through the responding series of parries, the clashes of the two swords clanging across the now empty training ground. The sun was setting below the trees in the distance and the other guardians and scouts had already retired for the night. Only Harry, Alassë, and Harry’s ever-present shadow, Tulco, remained behind.

Harry stepped back and reached up for the next block but his step was awkward and his leg and sword buckled at Alassë’s downward attack. Harry had to duck to avoid being sliced by the sharp blade.

“Again.”

“ _Tárnya_ ,” Alassë protested. “We should rest.”

“I have to get this right,” Harry insisted. “Once more.”

Sighing, Alassë agreed. Once more they went through the sequence and this time Harry completed it successfully.

“Again, just so I can remember.”

Once more they performed the sequence of blocks and strikes near to perfection.

“Once more,” Harry said, already moving back to his start position.

“Tárnya—“

“Please just—“

“Haldanár.” Harry froze. Alassë had been exceedingly formal with Harry since finding out he was the Tar-Eldatur. She’d never called him anything other than “Tárnya” and although she had been firm in some times, generally she had conceded the decisions of his training to Ornon or Harry himself. Gone were the sessions of taunting and harsh insults.

“I do not believe that we will be able to accomplish any more today,” Alassë said, politely but firmly.

“I just need to do it once more, just to be sure it’s perfect.”

Alassë frowned. “What has happened?”

“What?”

“You have been much more… _focused_ these last few weeks. More than you have ever been since we began training together. Has everything been going well?”

In truth, Harry had much more to worry about now that he had been announced as Tar-Eldatur. Hrávon had been sending back regular reports from the Muggle and Wizarding World. To Harry’s surprise and suspicion, Voldemort had not revealed his presence and seemed to be sticking to the shadows. Hrávon reported that he seemed to be trying to recruit and gather more of his old followers to him. Already Voldemort had sent emissaries to the werewolf packs and there were even rumors that he was trying to recruit giants and vampires.

But more concerning to Harry were the articles in the Daily Prophet. Hogwarts was featuring prominently in them, and the majority of it was not in the best light. It seemed the Daily Prophet was trying to single-handedly discredit Dumbledore. The Ministry had an official at the school, Umbridge, who had been named High Inquisitor with the authority to sack teachers and pass Educational Decrees. And she was exercising that power rigorously. But just as in the dream he’d had a few weeks before, there was nothing Harry could do. Not without revealing the survival of the Eldar and risking his people.

Harry sighed heavily. “I have a lot more to think about,” he said. “The Eldar, Voldemort, the Council, the Ministry…”

“The Council is present to help you, Tárnya,” Alassë assured him. “They want to protect the Eldar just as you do. So do all those who train here.”

“I know that,” Harry insisted. “I do. I just—don’t know if…I will be strong enough. When it comes down to it, I can’t let anything happen to you, Hrávon, Sailano, Little Veryë, _any_ of the Eldar. Especially because I wasn’t ready.”

Alassë nodded in understanding. “It is true that the Tar-Eldatur is one of our greatest fighters and the strongest of any in magic. But it is not technique that makes a great fighter. It is his heart. What I have seen of your character, you have a strong heart full of compassion. In your oath you promised to give your life for the Eldar, should it be necessary and I believe that you would without a second thought. But…”

She trailed off, seeming uncertain of the next words she wished to say.

“What is it?” Harry urged.

“Without the Tar-Eldatur, the Eldar are out of Balance. They cannot grow, they cannot thrive. They are lost and weakened without you. You _must_ care for yourself. Protect our future.”

“I’m trying to.”

“By working yourself to exhaustion? You spend long hours in training and long hours with the Council. And I know you do not sleep at night.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, knowing that she was right. He hadn’t slept well at all since he’d seen the attack on a wizard in the strange place. He knew, deep in his heart, that he was watching through Voldemort’s eyes. Somehow, the connection between himself and his enemy was growing. It wasn’t just twinges in his scar. His scar burned almost constantly, and his dreams were plagued by visions of such horrible acts each night; it was enough to make any normal, sane person scream.

“The visions are growing worse, Alassë,” Harry sighed.

“Like the one of the wizard?”

“Yes, but more. Torture, killings, nearly every night now. I don’t know how to stop them except to work so hard I just pass out.”

Alassë frowned. “Tulco never reported—“

“Tulco won’t report anything at _my_ request,” Harry said a bit more forcefully than he wanted. Tulco’s presence, while he was used to it by now, was still a point of contention. He didn’t want someone following him, watching his every move. He knew it was because they didn’t want him running off again. Well fine, Tulco could follow him, but Harry had made sure the guard understood he was not to report anything he saw in private.

“Perhaps a healer may help,” Alassë suggested.

But Harry shook his head. “It would be too dangerous for a healer to try to enter my mind. I will not risk an eldar, just because I am having bad dreams.”

“But you said yourself, they are visions. Someone is placing them inside your mind.”

“Yes, and the way to be rid of them is to defeat this person.”

Alassë’s eyes widened as she suddenly understood. “You know who this person is.”

Harry nodded. “It’s the False Lord, Voldemort. When I was a baby, he tried to kill me.” Harry swept back the fringe of his hair, which had grown longer and wilder in his time in Métimalondë. “This scar is from the curse he used, the Killing Curse. I survived it, and Voldemort was destroyed. But last year, using my blood, he returned, and since then my scar has been burning and I have visions of his deeds.”

“But then why do you need Hrávon and his scouts? If you can see what the False Lord does…”

“I can only see what he does as he does it. I can’t see what he is planning, what he is going to do.”

“Have you tried? Surely as Tar-Eldatur, you are much stronger than him.”

“You’ve never faced him. He is so… _evil_. Dark, twisted.” Harry’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as he remembered the dark ritual in the graveyard, the diary, and the possession of Quirrell. So many times he’d faced Voldemort, but nothing could compare to the fear, the terror he felt being trapped in that graveyard unknowing and unprepared. When Voldemort had emerged from that cauldron, flesh and blood once more, it was as if all of Harry’s worst nightmares were realized. To _purposefully_ try to enter Voldemort’s mind would be to willingly plunge into the deepest, most depraved pits of Hell. He couldn’t do it, and he would not require anything of the Eldar that he would not do himself.

Something in his gaze stopped Alassë from pressing the subject further. Perhaps it was the way his eyes seemed to focus on something long and far away or maybe even the subtle darkening of the green irises as if merely the thought was causing some of the False Lord’s darkness to bleed over to the Tar-Eldatur. This, truly, was the greatest concern; that to enter the False Lord’s mind would leave the Tar-Eldatur vulnerable to his Darkness and perhaps even upset the Balance. Alassë’s mother had taught her for many years that with a foundation of Earth, the guidance of Light, and the cleansing powers of Water, the Tar-Eldatur would be incorruptible. Yes, Haldanár is strong, and his magic burns greater than any Alassë had ever met before. But he was not incorruptible. He seemed to know this better than any.

“Come, Tárnya. It is growing late and I am hungry.”

Reluctantly, Harry let Alassë lead him away from the training grounds and back through the streets of Métimalondë. He expected them to make their way back to Sailano’s home where Harry still lived, but rather they turned down a different road, one that took them down along the wharf where the fishermen anchored their ships. Most were in for the night and the waterfront was abuzz with activity. Eldar roamed, laughing and chatting. Stalls had been set up with tables and the smells were unlike anything Harry had ever smelled before; rich, seasoned with exotic spices and flavors. He didn’t know where to go first, but Alassë seemed to have a place in mind. She led him to one of the stalls right on the wharf where they were selling all sorts of seafood, from fried fish to crabs, even clams. The stall owner recognized Alassë and grinned broadly.

“Alassë! _It has been too long!_ ”

“Halatirno,” Alassë replied and she moved around the counter to embrace the eldar. “ _Ánin apsene._ I’ve been training.”

Halatirno looked past her and Harry could see the recognition in his eyes. He’d seen that look enough times since he’d turned eleven.

“Tárnya,” Halatirno murmured, bowing his head briefly. A wide grin spread across his face. “Alassë must have told you I have the best _hala_ fish in all Métimalondë.”

Harry smiled genially. “Actually she hasn’t.”

“No?” The eldar lightly slapped Alassë on the shoulder.

“I brought him here, didn’t I?” Alassë protested.

“And I’d love to try some,” Harry added.

“Certainly, Tárnya. Only the best _hala_ for the Tar-Eldatur.”

“Please, I’m just Har-Haldanár,” Harry insisted as Halatirno began piling small, fried fish on a large leaf and then sprinkled some sort of herb on them before handing the entire leaf to Harry. To be honest, they didn’t look like anything he’d ever eaten before and Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. But Alassë came to his rescue, picking one up by the tail and tossing it back, eyes, tail, and all. Tentatively, Harry picked up a fish, much as Alassë had. The two eldar were watching him, Alassë with barely-concealed amusement and Halatirno with eager anticipation. With a deep breath, Harry tossed it back. He was expecting slimy and pungent, but instead the first bite was like a potato crisp. The spices flared and complimented the smooth taste of the fish and as he took a bite the flesh practically melted in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully and every bite brought a new taste to light until at last he swallowed.

“Wow that _is_ the best!” Harry declared, scooping up another.

Halatirno’s smile grew exponentially. “Didn’t I tell you!” he said, before grabbing more and piling them onto Harry’s make-shift plate. Harry reached into his pocket for some of the coins Sailano gave him, but Halatirno immediately refused.

“It is my honor to cook the Tar-Eldatur’s first _hala_.”

“Then this is for Alassë’s,” Harry insisted, pressing the coins into the eldar’s hand. “ _Hantanyel_ , thank you for bringing me here.” He took the new batch of _hala_ from Halatirno and gave it to Alassë.

“ _Alassenya nés_. It was my joy,” she replied softly, and her fingers brushed over the back of Harry’s hand as she took the fish. A strange moment passed between them, but it only lasted but a few seconds as a cheer went up from somewhere further down the wharf and lively music began to play.

“Come,” Alassë said, taking his hand and leading him down to where the crowd seemed thickest. The squeezed through until they came upon the center of attention, a space that had been cleared where eldar were singing and dancing as musicians played. They danced in a big group, laughing and twirling. If they had certain partners, Harry couldn’t tell who they were. The song the musicians were playing was a popular one too, as everyone seemed to take up the tune. It was something about a mountain and a storm cloud, but the words didn’t really matter. Harry quickly found himself tapping his foot and then clapping along with the others and for the first time since the dream, his heart was light and he cheered on the dancers and musicians when the song ended.

Another song struck up soon after, and then another and another. Harry started singing along to the simple, repetitive verses. Alassë stayed by his side and Tulco was certainly not far.

“Do you want to try a dance?” Alassë asked as the song came to a close.

Immediately Harry’s mind flashed to the disastrous Yule Ball and his opening dance with Parvati Patil.

“Uh no-I mean it probably wouldn’t be a good idea. I don’t even know the steps.”

Alassë smiled. “I’ll teach you. They’re not hard. Come.” And before Harry could protest further, she’d once more led him out to an unfamiliar place. The other eldar made space for them and Harry could tell that more than a few recognized him, but thankfully they didn’t make a big show of bowing or anything. The most he got was a polite bob of the head, which he automatically returned even though he probably wasn’t supposed to. He and Alassë took spots in the inner circle as the band started up again.

Alassë might’ve thought the steps were easy, but Harry’s two left feet would beg to differ. He stumbled and went the wrong way a few times, but each time Alassë would take his arm and steer him along. Soon, the patterns started to become familiar and Harry found himself thinking less about the steps and simply having fun. He didn’t even realize Alassë had stopped correcting him, nor that he seemed to know the steps for each new dance. They danced each song until at last the night grew late and the stalls packed up as the crowds began to thin. Tulco once more appeared just behind him and Harry knew it was finally time to return to Sailano’s house. But first he escorted Alassë back to her apartment not far from the training fields.

“Thanks for everything tonight,” Harry said. “I really needed it.”

“I like to go down to the docks when my heart is heavy,” Alassë replied. “It helps me to remember why my mother gave me my name, Joy.”

Harry found himself trying to picture a little Alassë with a woman who was an older version of the dark-haired eldar he knew now, but his mind only showed him memories of Little Veryë. It was hard to see Alassë as anything other than the strict, hardened warrior he knew. And yet, tonight she’d shown him a side of herself he’d never expected.

“If I ever get like that again, you can drag me down there anytime,” Harry said at last.

Alassë snorted. “If you ever get like that again, I’ll hit you over the head with your own sword. Remember tonight. This is what matters most.”


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20:

Hermione fidgeted as she stood in the Room of Requirement, the entire D.A. looking at her expectantly. Why had she volunteered for this? She barely felt she had a decent grasp of the Patronus Charm herself, and now she would have to teach it to the others, somehow. Ron made eye contact and nodded, the briefest, smallest gesture of confidence. It broke Hermione’s heart. Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George all stood before her when they should’ve been home. Mr. Weasley was still in a coma in St. Mungo’s suffering from wounds that would not heal no matter what the Healers did.

“Right then,” she said at last, nearly choking on the words. “The Patronus Charm is used to create a barrier against Dementors. Dementors prey on happiness, which is why they are so often associated with coldness and despair. The Patronus is made of pure Light magic, and the Dementors feed on it rather than the witch or wizard.”

A few of the D.A. shifted and Hermione saw Zacharias Smith in the back not even try to disguise a yawn.

“The incantation is ‘ _Expecto Patronum’_ , but all of the sources and my own practical work agree that the incantation needs strong intent. You have to be thinking of something, or someone, that makes you happy.”

Hermione paused, her mind turning back to her own practice with Lupin at Grimmauld Place.

“Just think of something happy? That’s it?” Ginny asked.

“It can’t just be anything,” Hermione replied. “It has to be the happiest thing you can think of. The strongest memory you have.”

“Can you show us?” Luna asked, softly from the first row. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. She’d been practicing, and although her otter didn’t appear every time, she was mostly able to conjure a shield at least.

“Alright,” Hermione muttered, more to herself than to the group at large. “There are two types of Patronus. The first is a simple shield, while the other, if the memory is strong enough, can take the form of an animal. _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

Silver burst from the tip of her wand and coalesced into an otter that darted a few times around Hermione before leaping out over the crowd. The D.A. members watched in amazement and Hermione grinned broadly. She’d done it. She’d succeeded in her demonstration. Her Patronus didn’t last long, but as it faded away, the D.A. was already buzzing with excitement.

“Pair up,” Hermione called. “And try the charm. I’ll be around if anyone is struggling.”

The students were far more enthusiastic now as they hurried into pairs and the Room of Requirement filled with exclamations of “ _Expecto Patronum”_. Hermione wandered between them, watching and making corrections. The majority could only conjure up the white whisps, as Hermione had only been able to do before Remus’s guidance.

“Your memory has to be _strong_ ,” Hermione insisted. “Really dig deep and think about those you love, those who make you feel happy. _They_ are your greatest source of power.”

Hermione paused as she watched Luna close her eyes. A soft smile crept over the girl’s face mere moments before she tried again.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” a white hare burst from Luna’s wand and hopped a few circles around her head before dissipating.

“Oh well done, Luna!” Hermione grinned, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulders and giving her a quick hug. Others were quick to congratulate her as well and even more driven to discover their own Patronus’s form. Luna seemed thrilled to be surrounded by friends and although she did not conjure another corporeal Patronus the rest of the session, she still had some of the strongest and brightest shield Patroni. By the end there were more who could conjure the shield and to Ron’s shock, his own dog Patronus darted from his wand and barked at him just before the meeting was called to an end.

“That was a really good meeting,” Hermione told them all. “Keep practicing, when you can, and don’t forget to check your coins for the next meeting.”

The D.A. begant to disperse, many leaving for supper but a handful decided to stick around a little longer and continue to work on the Patronus Charm.

“Hermione, we need to talk,” Neville said lowly. He, Ron, and Ginny exchanged a look before the four of them moved off to a private corner of the Room of Requirement. When they were well out of hearing-range of the others, Neville spoke again.

“What are we going to do about Umbridge?”

Part of Hermione knew this topic would come up soon. Ever since Umbridge became High Inquisitor, she’d been doing more and more to put Hogwarts under her thumb. Most recently, the Inquisitorial Squad had taken to spying on students and faculty alike. There were rumors too, that Umbridge was interrogating students. Knowing what Hermione did of her punishment methods from Fred and George, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Umbridge’s interrogation methods were also questionable, if not downright illegal.

“The charm on the registration paper binds the members of the D.A. If anyone betrays us, we’ll know.”

“And if they find out?” Ginny asked. “The Room of Requirement is brilliant, but how much longer can this remain a secret. Just yesterday, Malfoy followed Neville and I for almost thirty minutes after supper. We wouldn’t have known, either, if Neville’s shoelace hadn’t come untied.”

“We need to tighten our defenses,” Ron declared.

But Hermione had a different idea, as she caught sight of Fred and George, who had been casting their Patroni at each other, but now just seemed to be trying to hit each other with conjured water balloons.

“Maybe we don’t,” she said. “What if we just provided her with another target?”

The other three looked at her with confusion.

“How?” Neville asked tentatively.

“Fred, George!” Hermione called, waving the them over. The twins exchanged an unreadable look before grinning and joining the small group.

“Well, if this little gathering doesn’t look suspicious,” Fred commented.

“How may we be of assistance?” George asked.

“When we first started, you said you had some plans for Umbridge,” Hermione said. She held up her hand as the twins started to explain. “I don’t want to know the specifics,” she told them quickly. “The less we know the better. Umbridge is still suspicious of us though. We need you to keep her so busy, so focused on other things, that she and the Inquisitorial Squad can’t possibly find the D.A. And you’ll have our help to do it.”

“They will?” Neville asked, shifting nervously at the gleam in the Weasley twins’ eyes.

“Yes,” Hermione replied firmly. “If we work together, with Fred and George’s help I’m sure we can keep Umbridge off the D.A.’s trail.”

Ron frowned. “It’s risky.”

George feigned indignation. “And here we thought you were our brother! Have a little faith Ronniekins!”

“Don’t call me that,” Ron growled. “I said it’s risky, but it might work.”

The following weeks found Umbridge running all over the castle to the point that she often had to leave in the middle of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes to deal with some sort of incident, almost always at the other side of the school. In addition to Fred and George’s efforts, the teachers of Hogwarts seemed to be suddenly incompetent when it came to handling any troublemakers. Professor Flitwick was “stumped” when the entire fourth floor was turned fuchsia, and Professor McGonagall had sworn up and down she didn’t know why the suits of armor seemed to suddenly be singing Quidditch anthems every time Umbridge walked by and she simply couldn’t fix it as she didn’t want to overstep her boundaries as a mere professor.

Hermione and the other founding members of the Defense Association would occasionally be called upon to carry items to certain parts of the castle or serve as look out while Fred and George worked their charms, but for the most part they found themselves free to continue their practices without needing to look over their shoulders each time they attended a meeting. Umbridge and her squad were simply too busy trying to keep the school from descending into chaos. Hermione’s plan had worked splendidly and Hermione herself couldn’t have been happier in those few weeks. But she couldn’t help but worry that something was sure to happen soon. As the winter months passed and the weather brightened and warmed again and students began to prepare for the end of the year exams, Hermione waited and watched. So far Voldemort had been relatively quiet since Mr. Weasley was attacked at the Ministry by the snake. Mr. Weasley himself still lay in St. Mungo’s, still in a coma with no signs of waking anytime soon, but Hermione knew instinctively that Voldemort wasn’t through. He was just beginning and soon he would reveal himself. With Harry away and “missing”, the only one who stood in his way now was Dumbledore.

 

If Albus asked him one more time if he’d heard any news yet from Mr. Potter, Severus was going to kill the old man himself! As if he, Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater, ex-Guardian, and ex-Eldar, would possibly have any more insight into the daily events of Métimalondë as anyone else in the castle. It was ridiculous and a waste of time, and yet Dumbledore continued to summon him to his office every other week to discuss Potter and what may be “expected”. Severus was just then coming from one such “discussion” when he came across Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley loitering in the corridors very close to curfew. They seemed to be discussing something in hissed undertones, a lover’s quarrel perhaps? No matter, neither one should be out of the common room at this hour.

“Weasley! Granger!”

Both Gryffindors jumped, having not seen or heard him coming until that moment. Considering both students were involved with an illicit Defense Against the Dark Arts group, he expected them to be a bit more aware of themselves and their surroundings. Umbridge might’ve been a blind toad, but Dumbledore and the rest of the faculty were not.

“Yes, sir?” Granger asked and Severus had to concede she seemed convincingly innocent.

“You would do well not to _loiter_ in the corridors so close to curfew.”

Weasley opened his mouth, no doubt to say something that would cost him house points, by Granger seemed to beat him to the punch.

“We were just on our way back to the common room, Professor,” she said quickly. “Let’s go, Ron.”

“Not so fast!”

Severus inwardly shuddered at the prim, grating voice echoed down the corridor. All three of them turned as Umbridge strode up, her beady eyes glancing between all three of them suspiciously. Since becoming Hogwarts’ High Inquisitor, Umbridge had taken it upon herself to examine everyone and everything in the whole castle as if they were out to get her. Of course, with her growing reputation, more and more of them were!

“It is very nearly curfew. Students are not permitted to roam the corridors. What are you two doing wandering the third floor, so very far from your common room?”

“As I was just informing them, _Inquisitor_ ,” Severus growled. It wasn’t enough for her to come into his classes and evaluate his teaching methods, now she had to butt into his disciplinary techniques too?

“Of course, Professor Snape, I can see you were handling this,” Umbridge replied sweetly. “Perhaps I might make a suggestion?”

“You most certainly may not,” he retorted. “Granger, Weasley, twenty points from you both for being in the corridors after dark. Off with you, now!”

“Yes, sir,” Granger said far too quickly as she all but manhandled Weasley out of his presence. At least the Know-It-All had some sense. Severus had heard of what went on in Umbridge’s detentions and it disgusted him.

“Well, Severus, you certainly have a…presence with the students.”

“I _have_ been teaching for nearly fourteen years,” Severus replied tersely. He had no desire to listen to the toad any longer and continued on his rounds. However, it seemed he would not be able to get rid of Umbridge as she fell into step with him, her short stubby legs taking nearly three steps for his one.

“A professor of your tenure would certainly have a great deal of experience, particularly with the children. I wonder if perhaps you might know where Harry Potter is?”

Severus stopped and it was only his Slytherin instinct that kept his surprise in check. He gave her a look that bordered on boredom with plenty of his usual disdain.

“Potter,” he sneered, “No doubt he believes he is too good for his classes.”

“Then, you know where he is?”

“Of course not. The Headmaster claims Mr. Potter is ill, but he would not say where he is recuperating.”

Umbridge’s disappointment was plain on her squashed face.

“But surely the Headmaster confides in you. He must’ve told you something of where Potter is hiding.”

Severus watched and tried to gauge where this conversation was headed. Umbridge had displayed no particular interest in Potter beyond the cursory observation that he was indeed not in school. Much of her energy seemed to be focused more on ensuring that Severus and none of his colleagues could do their jobs properly, and instituting near martial law on the students.

“Unfortunately the Headmaster does not confide in his staff beyond what is needed to teach.”

“But then what do you speak of nearly every week? I know that Dumbledore calls you to his office regularly.”

Severus sneered. “Potions ingredients.”

Whatever Umbridge had been expecting, it was not what he told her.

“I beg your pardon?”

It was almost too easy.

“We discuss the school’s supply of potions ingredients. I am the school’s Potions Master, and my classes utilize a large quantity of ingredients, not to mention the potions needed for the school’s infirmary. Each week I discuss my order with the Headmaster so my store does not run out.”

Umbridge’s expression fell, so obviously believing his outrageous lie.

“Then…you do not know the whereabouts of Harry Potter?”

“Certainly not, nor do I care about them.”

Umbridge _humpf-_ ed and straightened herself up, but even then she only came to about his shoulder.

“As High Inquisitor of this school, it is my duty to follow up on any absences, extended or otherwise. It is highly inappropriate that Mr. Potter should miss so much of the school year.”

“Then might I suggest you speak to the Headmaster directly?”

“Indeed, I will be having a discussion with the Headmaster about what other _special allowances_ he is making. The Minister will want to hear about all of this.” She turned on her heel and marched off, though Severus thought he heard a muttered “If he would _see_ me,” as she departed briskly.

“Good night, Dolores,” Severus spat under his breath as she proceeded in the opposite direction, for which he was all too grateful. It seemed he and Dumbledore would finally have something to discuss when he was next summoned to the Headmaster’s office. Severus was _not_ looking forward to it.


	22. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note that wherever there is a phrase in Eldarin, a translation almost immediately follows. Also assume that when two eldar are speaking to each other, it is in Eldarin unless stated otherwise.

Chapter 21:

Once more he found himself in the long hallway. As always, he took one step forward, and another, and another. Always he moved forward but never seemed to get anywhere.

_“Harry.”_

He stopped, looking for the source. But he was alone. Some movement passed at the corner of his vision.

“Who’s there?”

_“Harry.”_

“Show yourself!”

_“I’m right here.”_

He spun, sure that they were right behind him. But the hallway was empty. It stretched on and on, the same as always.

“ _Come, Harry.”_

“Leave me alone.”

“ _I’m waiting for you, Harry Potter.”_

“Go away!” Harry shot up in bed, his hand thrown out in front of him. If there had been an attacker before him, they would’ve been thrown across the room. As it was the magic slammed against the far wall, cracking one of the wooden timbers. It was a testament to how often something like this had happened that Tulco didn’t move from his post to even see if his charge was under attack. He watched passively from just by the door as Harry sighed heavily.

“ _Reparo,_ ” he muttered with another wave of his hand and the timber was whole once more. Slowly he stood and walked across the room where a basin waited for him with cool water and a wash cloth. He dipped the cloth in the basin and methodically wiped the sweat from his face and neck as he had so many times before. His hands shook but he tried to force them steady as he wrung out the towel and set it aside. If he looked in the mirror on the wall, it would show him a pale face, marred by deep dark circles and haunted by insomnia. Despite his best efforts and those of Alassë, the visions were becoming worse. There was not a night he did not have them, and no medicine from the healers could keep them at bay. The worse it became, the more Alassë pushed for him to see a healer and the more Harry insisted it was too dangerous. The truth was, Harry wasn’t sure the healers could truly do anything for him, and the connection he already shared with Voldemort put the Eldar in enough danger. Perhaps his father or grandfather could have told him what to do, but it seemed that with the onset of the visions, he could no longer summon the memories of the Tar-Eldatur that came before. It was as if the visions from the False Lord were blocking out the part of his mind where the memories lay.

As Harry collapsed back on the bed, sure that his sleep was finished for the night, his mind, not for the first time, wandered to Hogwarts. Dumbledore would surely know how to stop the visions. He was the only wizard Voldemort ever feared. He was wise and powerful, and surely had the knowledge Harry needed just to sleep through the night once more. The only problem was Dumbledore could not pass through the wards of Métimalondë. Every day Harry learned more and more about the magic of the Eldar. Métimalondë was designed as a last stronghold for the Eldar, should the worst come to pass and the Eldar find themselves without a Tar-Eldatur. It was protected by the magic of each of the Tar-Eldatur who reigned since the city’s construction as each of them poured some of their own essence into the wards. It was this essence that determined whether or not a person may pass. Only those with the essence of an eldar could survive such an intensely intrusive test. Dumbledore, with all his power, would not survive such a test. If Harry was to receive his help, he was going to have to leave Métimalondë, against the wishes of the Council.

“I need you to teach me how to perform a glamour.”

Ornon looked amused. He sat under a nearby tree where he’d been observing Harry’s progress through one of the many sword dances Alassë had taught him. Harry stopped midway through the dance to make his declaration.

“And what need have you to learn how to perform a glamour?”

“I have business I must attend to.”

“Any business you cannot perform wearing your own face is not the sort of business the Tar-Eldatur should be involved in.”

“Maybe not, but I have to anyways. Will you teach me, Herumacil?”

Not so very long ago, Ornon would have derided Harry for his lack of focus and sent him off to run laps around the training field. However, time had passed and Ornon studied him for a very long time before he inclined his head respectfully.

“If Tárnya wishes.”

Harry had his argument on the tip of his tongue, but choked on it as he realized Ornon had agreed with him for once. That was different.

“Thank you.”

“After you have completed your sword dance. Start again, from the beginning.”

When Harry returned to Sailano’s house, he was physically and magically drained. Glamour took more power than Harry expected. It had been easy to change something small for an hour or so. His hair had been Gryffindor red for the majority of his training session. But to maintain it for any longer, that would be difficult. And he would have to maintain it. As he settled into bed for the night, a plan began to form in his mind. He knew there was no way to get away from Tulco without help, and although he knew more about the protections that surrounded Métimalondë, he didn’t really know where the last haven stood in relation to anything else. It could be a floating island in the middle of a void for all he knew. For this, he needed someone who knew not only how to leave the city, but also how to return when the time came. He needed Roimon back.

 

The next morning, Harry requested to speak to Sailano in private following breakfast.

“Of course, Tárnya,” Lord Sailano replied. “My study is private, if you wish to utilize it.”

“Um, yes,” Harry replied and allowed Sailano to lead the way into the study and close the door securely behind him, leaving Tulco outside.

“How can I be of service, Tárnya?”

“I wanted to know what became of Roimon, the guardian I had when I first came to Métimalondë.”

Sailano frowned. “He was placed on long patrols after his failure to keep you safe.”

“He didn’t fail me.”

“But he did not stay with you. Tulco, surely, has been a superior replacement.”

Harry knew he had to tread carefully now. “He has been very attentive. But I would still like to speak with Roimon. When is he to return to the city?”

The only indication Sailano was in disagreement was a slight tightening in the corners of his mouth, which he quickly disguised as an accommodating smile. When Harry had first met Sailano, he would not have noticed it. But during his time with the elves, he was quickly learning not only swordplay and magic, but politics too. Sailano did not appreciate that Harry wasn’t letting the subject drop.

“I am unaware, at the present, Tárnya, but I will endeavor to find out before tomorrow, if that is permissible?”

Every day that Harry didn’t place his budding plan into action was another night he experienced the disturbing night visions and another day that Voldemort grew stronger. He didn’t want to linger too long, but pressing would reveal too much of his hand too early. He needed Sailano and a majority of the Council unsuspecting, otherwise he would never make the docks, much less the edge of town.

Still, there was no reason he couldn’t play a card or two.

“I think Tulco deserves a rest, after guarding me day and night for so long. I was thinking that Roimon could share the duties with Tulco, since he was already familiar with the responsibilities, and I am already familiar with him.”

Now Sailano was _very_ disapproving. His expression nearly shouted it from the rooftops of Métimalondë.

“Tárnya, I do not think that would be a wise decision. Roimon was removed—“

“Because _I_ ran off, not because he had anything to do with it. It wasn’t Roimon’s fault, and he’s a good guardian. And I am much more _aware_ now than I was when I first came here.”

‘ _Back when I didn’t know anything of elven politics,’_ Harry thought privately.

“I would like to give Roimon the chance to prove himself worthy of my Guard.”

Sailano’s eyes widened in shock. There hadn’t been any talk yet of the _Arantir_ , the “King Guard”. Traditionally the four guardians who watched over the Tar-Eldatur were chosen by the king himself, typically through a trial, some deed done in battle, or even simply training with the Tar-Eldatur. It was the highest honor for a _Varyar_ , a Protector. In truth, Harry was long overdue to choose his Arantir, but between his studies, his many meetings with the Council, and the many sleepless nights he spent dreaming of the long hallway and Voldemort, Harry simply hadn’t thought much on it.

Sailano quickly recovered from his shock. “I see,” he replied. “And have you considered others for this honor?”

“Some,” Harry conceded, though he wasn’t about to name anyone else yet. The Arantir were meant to be loyal to the Tar-Eldatur alone with no ties to other families or Council members. They were, after all, not only they King’s guardians, but also his closest confidants, practically members of his close family. Of course, he had seen before in the memories of the past Tar-Eldatur stored in Harry’s mind, many Arantir had not been impartial before. It was a long-standing tradition of the Council to attempt to sway the Tar-Eldatur towards choosing a Varyar whom one Council member or another had sway over. In some cases, it had worked and in others the bond between the Tar-Eldatur and the Arantir proved stronger. Either way, Harry couldn’t risk it. He needed to make sure his Arantir were loyal to him and his vision for the Eldar.

“Then upon Roimon’s return I will arrange for a trial.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“But it would be…diverting for the people.”

“Maybe, but there are other things that need to be done. A trial will have to wait. I would settle for Roimon being added to a guard rotation, with Tulco. Can you make sure it’s done?”

“If Tárnya wishes.”

Harry thanked him graciously, throwing in a few compliments and standard thanks to smooth over as many ruffled feathers as possible. Then he made his way down to the training grounds where he almost had the hang of his glamour. He could cast and maintain it for a fair bit of time, but the details of his glamour were still a bit lacking, and were crude to the eyes of an elf. The average human wouldn’t notice any change, and for what Harry was planning to do, that was all that was needed.

 

It took two days for Roimon to return to Métimalondë from his extended patrol. Upon his return, however, he was shocked to find out that the Tar-Eldatur himself had requested his return as a guardian. As he stood at attention before Lord Sailano and the Council, he almost couldn’t trust his own ears.

“You are not to let the Tar-Eldatur out of your sight while you are on duty, is that understood, Varyar?” Mendenis Saira told him.

“Yes, Mendenis Heri,” Roimon replied, inclining his head respectfully.

“The Tar-Eldatur is not to leave the city without this Council’s approval. It is not safe for him outside Métimalondë,” Sailano explained.

Roimon frowned. He’d received similar instructions when they had first gone to retrieve the Tar-Eldatur from the wizarding school. But then he had been ignorant of his heritage and vulnerable. Roimon had been away on patrol during the coronation, but he’d heard all about it upon his return. The young Tar-Eldatur had taken up his birthright and the Eldar had welcomed him with feasting and celebrations that had lasted nearly three days! Everyone, it seemed, had greeted the Tar-Eldatur personally and received a ‘well met’ in return. They called him Carastar Reborn and even Minyacundo!

It seemed not only unnecessary, but an overstep to command him to stop the Tar-Eldatur from leaving the city if he so wished.

“Will that be a conflict, Roimon Varyar?” Sailano asked. The Lord had known Roimon coming up through the guardian ranks and for a time Roimon had served as Sailano’s personal guardian while they had been out in the human world searching for the Tar-Eldatur.

“No, Sailano Heru,” Roimon replied steadily.

Sailano seemed content with his response and so the rest of the Council took his lead and all agreed that Roimon would become the Tar-Eldatur’s second personal guardian. As Roimon left the hall, he couldn’t help but wonder why the Tar-Eldatur himself was not present for such a decision. He found out upon his arrival at the training grounds where the Tar-Eldatur was holding his own against Alassë. He settled in to watch the dance of two who had trained countless hours together and knew each other’s movements before they were even performed. _Both_ had come far in skill and speed since the last time Roimon had watched them. He couldn’t help but marvel at their dance, until the Tar-Eldatur spun and shot an offensive spell at Alassë. Upon instinct, Roimon leapt into action, but he was stayed by a firm hand on his shoulder. Turning, he found the guardian who had replaced him, Tulco, standing at rest beneath the tree. Tulco’s eyes left the fight briefly to assure Roimon that all was well. Indeed, Alassë seemed to anticipate the spell and batted it aside with her sword before returning one of her own. What had begun as a sword fight quickly became a duel of magic with occasional clashes. Their transition was seamless and Roimon couldn’t help but think he was almost unnecessary as the Tar-Eldatur’s guardian.

After many exchanges, some unspoken agreement brought the fight to a draw as both the Tar-Eldatur and Alassë stepped back and bowed formally. Then, to Roimon’s astonishment, the Tar-Eldatur threw an arm over Alassë’s shoulder, laughing breathlessly. Their spar would have drained a seasoned guardian, and yet the two seemed only exhilarated and perhaps a bit winded. The Tar-Eldatur caught sight of Roimon and his face broke into an even wider grin.

“Roimon! Welcome back!”

“Tárnya,” Roimon replied, bowing respectfully. “I have been advised by the Council that I am to once more be your guardian, if you would permit me.”

The Tar-Eldatur seemed amused by his words. “ _Permit_ you? I requested you! Please forgive me for my actions that led to your dismissal. I was only recently made aware of your assignment and immediately tried to set the record straight.”

Roimon nodded in acceptance of the unnecessary apology, but it was only done out of familiarity. In truth, the eldar that stood before him was not the same boy whom he’d returned from the wizarding school. He was not much older, physically, but in the time Roimon had been out on patrols, he had grown into this leader, comfortable in his position and confident in his demeanor. Suddenly the declarations of a new Minyacundo did not seem so farfetched.

“Tulco, you are relived for the night,” the Tar-Eldatur declared. “Roimon will take the evening shift. I will see you again in the morning.”

The other guardian seemed to hesitate, but with a direct order from the Tar-Eldatur and an implied order from the Council in Roimon’s presence, he had little choice but to agree and leave. The Tar-Eldatur waited until Tulco was well beyond earshot before his demeanor changed from the general thrilled happiness left over from the spar to serious urgency.

“I’m glad you’re back, Roimon. There is something I must discuss with both of you tonight, something I don’t want the Council to hear about. Alassë, meet us at Halatirno’s stall tonight, just before the dancing?”

Alassë nodded, unquestioning. The Tar-Eldatur handed her the training sword he’d been using for practice, casually brushing the fringe of hair away from his face, revealing the strange scar on his forehead. Roimon recalled it being one of the few things that had remained when Lord Sailano had broken the weak, human glamour so long ago. He wondered how the Tar-Eldatur had come by it.

“Tonight,” he repeated and then he left, Roimon following behind him like he’d never left. Before Roimon had led the way mostly, but now it seemed he was not needed. The Tar-Eldatur navigated the streets of Métimalondë as if he’d grown up on them. He stopped to speak with the little girl Veryë, who played not far from Lord Sailano’s home. The two of them chattered fluently in Eldarin, no more of the broken phrases and words from when the Tar-Eldatur had first begun his lessons with Nyarmo.

“Your friend is back,” Veryë commented, pointing up at Roimon. “Where did he go? He is nicer than the other one.”

Roimon smiled at the child’s innocent honesty.

“Roimon had to go on a journey, for me,” the Tar-Eldatur replied. “But he’s back now and he’s going to be with me for a while.”

Veryë, for all her intuition, still seemed confused at the idea of someone spending all their time with another in service.

“But doesn’t he have any other friends? I have other friends. There’s Narwien and Almië and Húon and Luino and—“

“That certainly is a lot of friends,” Roimon commented, sure the girl would go on for hours if allowed. “I wish I had that many friends.”

“But Haldanár is a good friend to have. He’s Tar-Eldatur now, but I’m not supposed to call him Tárnya because he doesn’t like it.”

Roimon looked sideways at the Tar-Eldatur who shrugged in bemusement.

“Veryë, come inside!” her mother called.

Veryë looked like she was about to protest.

“Ah, ah, what did we talk about?” the Tar-Eldatur asked.

Veryë sighed the biggest sigh of resignation Roimon had ever seen from one so young, before calling back, “I’m coming.”

“Goodnight, Veryë.”

“Goodnight, Haldanár, Roimon. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to my friends, so you can have more.”

Roimon chuckled. “I’d like that, thank you.”

The Tar-Eldatur watched her scamper off to her house and only turned away once she’d gone inside.

“Tárnya?”

“Haldanár, please.”

“With respect, I do not think Lord Sailano or the rest of the Council would approve of such informality.”

The Tar-Eldatur sighed heavily. “After I speak to the two of you tonight, maybe you’ll change your mind.”


	23. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice decent-sized chapter for you, full of fun things! Please excuse any inconsistencies and typos. I didn't do a very detailed edit of this before posting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the language "Eldarin" is heavily based in Tolkien's Quenya Elvish, written for the Lord of the Rings and his various works. Where there is an Eldarin phrase, the English translation almost immediately follows. Also, please assume that if two eldar are conversing, it is in Eldarin. Thank you!
> 
> If you are interested in how Eldarin sounds, here is a beautiful sound clip of the Ainulindale (Tolkien's creation story) read in Quenya. Enjoy! https://soundcloud.com/quenya101/ainulindal-quenyanna-1

Chapter 22:

The wharf was alive with activity that night with eldar bustling from stall to stall, talking and laughing as if there wasn’t a care in the world. For Harry, it was ideal. More people meant there was less chance that anyone would be listening into their conversation. He moved through the crowd with Roimon, familiar now with the ebb and flow of the market. It wasn’t long before he found himself before the now familiar stall. Halatirno spotted him coming and waved, grinning. Alassë was already waiting for him at the stall.

“Tárnya,” she greeted, nodding.

“Tárnya, welcome back,” Halatirno said, handing over a selection of fish.

“Thank you, Halatirno,” Harry replied, taking it knowing that the eldar would refuse to take payment for the food, as he always did. Still, Harry handed over a few coins and Halatirno began to protest when Harry nodded towards Roimon. “For my friend, as well.”

Halatirno laughed. “You always try to pull one over on me, Táryna. You are getting your change this time.”

Harry grinned but accepted the change without trying to convince Halatirno to keep any extra. Since the first time Alassë had brought him to the wharf, he’d been trying to find ways to re-pay Halatirno for the fish he always gave him. Everything from a “tip” to hiding coins under the counter, to sending Alassë to buy the food. But each time Halatirno had refused the Tar-Eldatur’s money, stating it was his honor.

Harry took the leaf full of steaming fish and handed it to Roimon who looked like he was about to refuse, but Harry gave him a strict look that stopped the protest on his tongue. The three thanked Halatirno before making their way back into the crowd. Harry sought out an area that had some activity, so that there was less a chance of them being overheard in the crowd. The three of them settled in a space between two shops, not far from where there was a band and a group dancing. Harry grinned as he watched Roimon relish his food.

“Thank you, Tárnya,” Roimon said after he’d finished. “It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed _hala_ fish. Long patrols are not conducive to fresh fish.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Alassë introduced me to Halatirno, and I have to say I think he makes the best on the wharf.”

“Without a doubt,” Alassë agreed. “But surely you didn’t ask us both here for fish. What do you need to say away from the High Council?”

Harry nodded, understanding it was time to get down to business.

“Alright, I need you both to understand that what we say here must not leave the three of us. I have been thinking a lot lately about the future and I’ve realized that I can’t stay here in Métimalondë any longer.”

His declaration was met with shock and confusion from both eldar.

“I don’t understand,” Roimon said. “Tárnya, surely your place is here with your people. What more do you have to do?”

“I have to return, to the wizarding world.”

Alassë seemed to draw understanding. “This is in regards to your nightmares, your visions.”

Harry nodded. “Before Sailano found me, I witnessed the return of the False Lord. He used some of my blood to make a body for himself. The more I have learned about the wards that protect Métimalondë, the more I’m afraid that the blood he used might allow him to enter through the wards.”

“Have you told the High Council of these fears?”

Harry frowned. “The High Council doesn’t think Voldemort is a threat to the Eldar. They feel we are safe because Voldemort thinks we’re dead. Maybe we are for now. But I’m not sure it will stay that way. Voldemort has tried to kill me many times before. He was responsible for my parents’ deaths. He won’t stop trying to find me, and with these visions, I’m worried that he might find out that the Eldar are still alive.”

There was silence as both Alassë and Roimon took in the gravity of the situation.

“That would mean the end of the Eldar,” Roimon said at last.

“I can’t let that happen. I have to go back and I have to make sure he can’t get into my mind. I want to return to Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore will know what to do, but…”

“But the Council doesn’t think you should leave,” Roimon finished. “And with good reason. With such a strong threat against you, it would be irresponsible to leave the safety of the city. And because it is directly against the wisdom of the High Council, every guardian in Métimalondë would be obligated to stop you. Unless we are martialed for war, the guardians take direction from the Herumacil.”

“Which brings me to my ultimate reason for bringing the two of you here. I have also been thinking about my _Arantir_ and I have decided that I would like to name the two of you.”

Harry saw their protests before they were even voiced and held up his hands. “Wait. Let me explain. Ever since I’ve come here, the two of you have been with me, guiding me. Roimon, you were my first guardian and you looked out for me without keeping me from doing what I needed to do. And Alassë, you’ve been my training partner since I first began training, and I hope, we’ve become friends. Of all the eldar I’ve met here, you two I trust to not only look out for me, but to help me.”

“Tárnya, I failed,” Roimon said quietly. “I allowed you beyond my guard and I was punished for it.”

“I was never in danger, Roimon. I don’t need a babysitter. I need someone who is going to be able to understand when I can and can’t handle myself.”

Alassë had been quiet through his speech and was pensive now.

“Think about it,” Harry urged them. “I know it’s a lot to ask. Sleep on it, and tell me your answers tomorrow night.”

The two of them nodded agreement.

“Alright, then enough talk. Alassë, should we show Roimon how bad of a dancer I am?”

Alassë smirked, bowing her head. “The Tar-Eldatur is a fair dancer.”

Harry laughed. “Don’t start lying to me now! Come on!” And he led the three of them into the crowd that was assembled nearby. Before, Harry would have never volunteered to wade into a crowd like this. But as the dancers parted to let them in, thumping him on the back and greeting him jovially, Harry felt something here that he’d never felt before in the Wizarding World. There everyone had known his name and had stared at him, as if waiting for him to do something to prove he was the one who defeated Voldemort. But here, among those whom he was supposed to rule, he felt only acceptance and inclusion. They linked arms with him and laughed and danced, no matter how bad he was or how many feet he trod on. It was so very different from the Yule Ball just the year before, and the farthest thing from his Sorting where everyone had whispered and stared.

The next morning Tulco was back and Roimon had left to get some sleep. With two guardians now, Tulco seemed already to be benefiting from the rest. His eyes were sharp and bright, his posture just a bit taller than his already strong stance. He greeted Harry with a murmured “Tárnya” and the two of them proceeded about their day. Harry studied the eldar lore with Nyarmo, learning about the past and the culture of his people. Even though they’d had a lesson nearly every day since Harry had first arrived, they were still quite early in the eldar’s history. Nyarmo had begun to talk about a group of elves he called the “Apanónar”, the After-born.

“The Apanónar appeared after the Minnónar,” Nyarmo explained. “During the time of the third Tar-Eldatur, Cethindo Searcher, many scouts were sent out to find a new place to build a great city. The capital of the Tar-Eldatur had grown too small for its people. Cethindo’s scouts found the Apanónar living deep in the heart of the forest.”

“What do they look like? Are they like the eldar? Like man?” Harry asked, curious.

“They are more like the eldar than man, but still there is very little resemblance. They are small creatures, but rich in natural magic. When they were found by the scouts, they were thought to be children at first, but it was soon realized that the Apanónar do not possess the same level of intelligence at the Minnónar, nor are they as long-lived. Still, Cethindo thought they would be useful and they were invited to help build the new capital, which would later be called Aicassë, the Mountain Peak.”

Nyarmo spoke of the original elven capital with reverence, like any scholar who thought back on a “golden age”. Many of the eldar shared his fond reminiscence and Harry too found himself yearning to see the capital. It was said to be in ruins now, left over from the Death Eater’s destruction, but maybe after the war, when Voldemort was at last finished, they could begin to rebuild Aicassë.

‘One day,’ Harry reminded himself.

“What happened to them after that?”

Nyarmo sighed, seeming to choose his words carefully now. “The Apanónar were all too happy to help us, and after the capital was built, they were invited to stay. And they did. But because of their nature, many chose to assist eldar families, to serve them faithfully. It was considered a great point of pride to serve an eldar family, and many traced their family lineages based on which family they served. Over time, the Apanónar became the servants of the Minnónar, in all things.”

Harry frowned. Nyarmo, as good of a Lore Master as he was, tended to speak in “gentle” ways about the actions of the Tar-Eldatur. He’d caught it a few times before, and he caught it again now.

“They were _servants_. And what happened to them, when Voldemort came?”

Nyarmo shook his head, sighing heavily. “They fought with the eldar, and many died. The few that did escape disappeared into the wild and into the wizarding world. None now remain in Métimalondë, though I believe their descendants remain in the wizarding world.”

And suddenly Harry understood.

“House-elves. You’re talking about house-elves, aren’t you?” Small creatures with pointed ears like the eldar, and natural magic. Natural magic meaning magic done without the use of words or a wand.

Nyarmo nodded. “I had heard that the wizards called them some other name, and that they serve wizarding families now.”

“But, then house-elves probably have a similar ancestry as the eldar! We’re from the same realm. Professor Snape said they weren’t like us.”

“They are not,” Nyarmo replied, forcefully. It was a sudden change from his normally calm, reflective voice. He seemed to realize it almost immediately and inclined his head in apology.

“Forgive me, Tárnya. I allowed my emotions to get away from me. But you must have care in the things you say. Many eldar would take offense to being compared to an Apanónar. It is considered an insult, of intelligence and culture. The Minnónar are so much more advanced than the Apanónar. Surely your experiences with the creatures in the wizarding world have lead you to the same conclusions?”

‘No, they haven’t,’ Harry thought. He immediately thought of Dobby, the brave house-elf who had disobeyed the direct orders of his master and had to punish himself, just to keep him, Harry, safe. He thought of Hermione, who started S.P.E.W. in an attempt to bring attention to the unfair, inhumane treatment of the house-elves. Harry had been in that position before, spending much of his younger years as little more than a house-elf for the Dursleys. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right, but it seemed that wizards weren’t wholly to blame for the house-elves’ mistreatment.

But Harry had to be careful. With what he planned to do, he needed as many members of the High Council on his side as possible. He thought perhaps Ornon would support him. He had, after all, agreed to teach Harry glamours. Harry wasn’t naïve enough to think Ornon was oblivious. He had no doubt the Herumacil suspected him. But he’d gone along with Harry’s request anyways. Oirandur too, would support him. He’d been the most vocal about supporting Harry before he’d formally become the Tar-Eldatur, and in all of the council meetings they’d had since then, had been Harry’s strongest supporter. Rávener was almost guaranteed to be against him. Harry just counted that as a given. And Sailano. Harry was sorry to say that he was sure Sailano would be against him in this. The eldar lord had devoted so much time and effort to finding him, and thus far every action he’d taken against Harry in the recent time had been to keep him within the safety of Métimalondë. Harry didn’t think it was for any malicious reason, but simply because Sailano feared another Yalmëtur. Such another situation would be the Eldar’s destruction.

The two Harry could not be sure of were Nyarmo and Mendenis. Mendenis was possibly the oldest of the Council, and while she didn’t have any problem opposing Harry, she often would support him in time Harry least expected it. He honestly wasn’t sure whether she thought he was doing a good job or not! Which left Nyarmo. Nyarmo, the quiet Lore Master, whom only spoke when there was something weighing heavily on his mind, or when the others looked to him for historical precedence. Nyarmo, Harry could not be sure of, so he refused to do anything that would purposefully set the Lore Master against him for any reason. Therefore, he considered Nyarmo’s question, and chose his words carefully.

“I have observed that they have very strong magic, and that they are often overlooked by wizards. Was it not Minyacundo himself who wrote, ‘even the smallest may change the course of the future’?”

Nyarmo studied him for a moment, and then to Harry’s surprise he threw his head back and laughed. Harry had never seen the normally reserved eldar guffaw like Hagrid before. A part of Harry bristled, sure that he was laughing at the perceived “absurdity” of his idea.

It was a few moments before Nyarmo at last composed himself, wiping the tears from his eyes with a handkerchief.

“My apologies, Tárnya,” he said at last. “I do not laugh because of you, only in that I have taught you very well, haven’t I? To quote a past Tar-Eldatur, to state your disagreement. Perhaps our lessons are coming to an end.”

“I hope not,” Harry replied without thought. He did enjoy his lessons with Nyarmo, once they’d gotten past reading and writing Eldarin and into the true lore.

Nyarmo smiled and nodded. “As you wish.”

Their lesson continued on with few interruptions and Tulco knocked on the door around lunch time to escort him. Harry had a light lunch with Sailano’s daughter Narwien before going to the training field to meet Alassë, and for Tulco to concede his watch to Roimon. The two guardians nodded to each other and Tulco gave one last, almost longing, look at Harry before he departed.

“I think Tulco misses me,” Harry mused, as he began to warm up with Alassë on the practice field.

Alassë snorted as she moved through a few of the simple sword dances slowly to warm up her muscles. Harry glanced around but they were alone in their part of the field and Ornon had not arrived yet to observe their practice session.

“Have you both thought about what I said?”

Alassë paused and Roimon stood up from where he’d been leaning against a nearby tree. Both of them glanced to each other, as if sharing a private thought between them, but it was Alassë who spoke up.

“I have, and I think there are many others, more experienced and stronger. But if there’s anything I’ve learned about you since we started training together, it’s that you’re stubborn and not inclined to give up, especially when you think you’re right. I humbly accept.”

Harry grinned and, in a very ‘Hermione’ move, threw his arms around her neck, giving her a great hug. He and Alassë had grown even closer since she’d taken him to the wharf the first time, becoming more comfortable in each other’s presence. Whereas before Alassë would have stiffened and stepped away, murmuring about “propriety”, now her arms came up and she returned his hug, patting him a few times on the back.

“ _Hantanyet órenyallo_.” Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Alassë nodded, pulling away and the two of them looked to Roimon, who had remained quiet. Even now he seemed uncertain and hesitant.

“Tárnya,” he began heavily.

“No,” Harry stopped him, knowing what Roimon was about to say. “I do not want to hear any excuses of why you would be inappropriate, or any other such nonsense. I want you to tell me, plainly, that you cannot be one of my _Arantir_ , that you are unable to do the job. And remember, I am Tar-Eldautr. _Naitë olos_ will tell me whether you are truthful or not.”

Roimon began to speak a number of times, but at last he sighed heavily and shook his head.

“I cannot say that, as one of your current guardians.”

Harry nodded. “Good, then do you have any _personal_ objections. If you are unwilling, I will not force you.”

“No, Tárnya. I am willing. I, like Alassë, just do not believe that I am the best choice.”

“Noted,” Harry replied. “The good news is that I have two more _Arantir_ to choose from, and as my first, both of you will have input into who they will be. So maybe you can help me choose two of the ‘best choices’.”

“Count on it,” Alassë replied. She took up her sword and knelt before Harry. “I know that there will be a formal ceremony before the Council, but if Tárnya would permit, I would make my oath now, and again later.”

Harry nodded. Alassë held her sword out for Harry to take.

“ _Inyë Alassë Varyar_ _lavuvanyel ní-turien.”_ I, Alassë Protector, am yours to command.

Harry took the sword from her hand, running a hand down the length “inspecting” it, before handing it back and placing his hands on Alassë’s shoulders.

“ _Tenn’oio nál nildenyá. Estanyel Alassë Arantir,”_ he replied. Forever you are my friend. I name you Alassë King Guard.

He reached down to bring Alassë to her feet and the two of them clasped forearms, smiling at each other before letting go. Alassë returned her sword to its scabbard and looked at Roimon expectantly. Roimon removed his own sword and knelt, bowing his head.

“ _Inyë Roimon Varyar lavuvanyel ní-turien._ ” I, Roimon Protector, am yours to command.

Harry examined his sword too, noting the differences in size and weight. Roimon was a good head taller than Alassë and naturally stronger for it. Where her sword was thinner for fast, quick strikes, his was longer and double-edged, designed to cleave a man’s skull in two, if need be. Harry handed it back and placed his hands on Roimon’s shoulders as he had Alassë.

“ _Tenn’oio nál nildenyá. Estanyel Roimon Arantir.”_ Forever you are my friend. I name you Roimon King Guard.

As he had with Alassë, Harry clasped forearms with Roimon, though his hand was not able to reach around the eldar’s forearm. He grinned up at his guardian and, surprisingly, Roimon smiled back at him, giving his arm an additional squeeze.

“Alright, enough ceremony,” Alassë interrupted. “Time for you to train. And don’t think I’m going to go easier on you now that I’m one of your _Arantir_.”

Harry released Roimon and picked up his training sword, squaring off against his partner. “I would be disappointed if you did,” he retorted before leaping into action.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23:

Hogwarts was unbearable. When Umbridge had become High Inquisitor, Hermione thought things were bad. But now they faced an even greater threat. Umbridge sacked Trelawney and the whole school was in an uproar. Not because _Trelawney_ was the one who was sacked. Hermione doubted many outside of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil cared much if Trelawney stayed or not. No, what had the whole school talking was the resulting showdown during dinner when Umbridge tried to banish Trelawney from the school grounds. Dumbledore himself had come out and stood before the toad of a witch. Trelawney stayed, but it had the whole school asking “for how much longer”. Because it was clear by now that when Umbridge wanted some new power over the school, it was only an Educational Decree from the Ministry of Magic away. In Hermione’s mind, it begged the question “how much farther is she going to go?”

It was becoming extremely dangerous to meet for the Defense Association. Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad, mostly consisting of Malfoy and his Slytherin goons, were at the edge of finding them. More than a few D.A. members had reported being followed by one of the squad. The Weasley twins had taken Crabbe and Goyle on a merry tour of Hogwarts the night before last, and while they’d all laughed at Fred and George’s comical renditions of Crabbe and Goyle’s baffled faces, it was becoming clear to Hermione and the other leaders of the D.A. that it was soon going to be time to disperse. If Umbridge had the power of the Headmaster, they would be unable to keep the D.A. meetings a secret. Better to stop than to risk the barbaric punishment doled out in Umbridge’s detentions. Hermione had been unable to stop the twins from having words scarred into their hands with all the detentions they received from Umbridge during class.

Sighing heavily, Hermione fished her D.A. coin out of her bag and turned the dial in resignation. They’d have one more meeting after the holiday break. Then they would have to stop.

Hermione tossed the coin into her trunk and closed the lid. She was to spend the spring holiday with the Weasley family at Grimmauld Place. Her own parents she’d encouraged to go to Italy. She’d encouraged their travelling plans more and more lately, wanting to keep them out of Britain as much as possible. Hermione wasn’t naïve enough to think Voldemort and his Death Eaters wouldn’t go after her parents. They were Muggles, and with Harry still gone, the Order of the Phoenix spies reported that Voldemort was turning his attention towards Ron and Hermione. That was the other reason she was spending the holiday at Grimmauld Place. It was safer there than at her own home, and with Umbridge at Hogwarts Hermione couldn’t stand the thought of staying.

There was a knock on her dormitory door.

“Come in,” Hermione called and Ginny popped her head inside.

“We’re ready when you are,” she said.

“Of course, I’m ready,” Hermione replied, before shrinking her trunk and placing it in her pocket. What she wouldn’t give to have that ability when travelling to her parents’ house! At least going to Grimmauld Place meant there were plenty of adult witches and wizards to un-shrink her trunk.

“Professor McGonagall says Dumbledore has a Portkey waiting for us in his office,” Ginny said as she and Hermione descended the stairs.

Hermione frowned. “We’re not taking the train?”

Ginny shook her head. “The Order doesn’t think it’s safe for you and Ron to be on the train right now.”

Hermione nodded, understanding. The Order of the Phoenix had been vague so far in just how interested Voldemort was in she and Ron, but if they weren’t even letting them ride the train back with the rest of the students for the break, then it must be quite serious.

“We’re going to visit Dad today too, if you want to come,” Ginny offered.

Mr. Weasley was still not recovered. The healers at St. Mungo’s had placed him in a magically induced coma to stop the effects of the snake venom, but they didn’t seem to be making much progress in figuring out how to cure it. From what Ginny told her, Mr. Weasley had been moved to a long-term ward and Mrs. Weasley was visiting him as often as possible. Ron refused to talk about any of it, so Hermione relied on Ginny to give her any updates. She was still trying to do some research, but it was proving exceedingly difficult not even really knowing what the snake looked like nor where it came from.

“Do you want me to?” Hermione asked softly.

Ron wouldn’t be able to answer her honestly, but Ginny would. She paused just before the base of the stairs, biting her lip.

“I think Mum might,” she replied. “Last time I saw him he was so…”

Hermione remembered. It had been the last day of the winter holiday and she’d gone with the whole Weasley family to visit Mr. Weasley just before he was moved. The difference had been shocking. Where Hermione remembered a vibrant, intensely curious man was a thin shell. His skin was pale and cold from the constant blood loss. His normally bright red hair was graying and brittle. His eyes were closed like he was sleeping, yet Hermione found herself watching the small rise and fall of his chest, just to be sure he was still breathing.

She reached out and pulled her friend into a hug, patting her gently on the back. Ginny accepted the gesture with just an edge of desperation.

“If you want me to be there with you, I will,” Hermione murmured into her friend’s ear. “Just say the word. But, if not, that’s okay too. I understand.”

“Thanks,” Ginny croaked, pulling away at last and dabbing a tear or two from her eyes. The two girls took a moment to compose themselves before descending the last few stairs to meet Ron, Fred, and George in the common room. The five of them trekked to Dumbledore’s office and gave the now familiar password before ascending to find their Head of House waiting with the Headmaster and Professor Snape. With Umbridge wreaking havoc around the school and Voldemort’s return, it was rare to see all three Professors in the same place together. One or more would usually be missing from any meal, usually Professor Snape. Hermione found herself discretely studying the man after the reveal that had taken place in this office almost a year ago. She thought she might’ve been able to see a faint outline of the features that Snape had revealed, like the lightest of shadows or a trick of the light. In her mind, she saw the tapered ears and fair features and wondered how Snape could possibly ever go back to the purposefully ugly glamour that he was wearing now.

He caught her staring and shot her a pointed glare with a brief nod as if to say “Pay attention you silly girl”. Professor Dumbledore was speaking to the group at large.

“As much as I understand wanting to take advantage of the holiday, I must ask that none of you leave Grimmauld Place without an escort. I’m afraid that Severus has reported Voldemort’s keen interest in retrieving one or both Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger.”

The thought of spending another holiday inside the drab, rundown House of Black was not a thrilling one, but Hermione could at least understand where it was necessary. Still, Sirius had been especially glum recently as Dumbledore had confined him too to the house, not even able to go out in his Grim form. She nodded in reluctant agreement when suddenly, Fawkes took off from his perch, out the open window. Not a moment later, one of Dumbledore’s instruments began spinning and whistling so loudly most in the office were forced to clap their hands over their ears. The Headmaster looked at the device with surprise, and then curiosity. With a flick of his wand he silenced the device before turning to the other two professors.

“Severus, Minerva, I do believe there is someone at the gate.”

Snape and McGonagall exchanged a concerned glance before the two of them hurried around the Headmaster’s desk, each drawing their wand.

“I must ask that the four of you remain here,” Dumbledore said as he held his arm out. As soon as Snape and McGonagall grasped his arm, the three of them were gone with the pop of Apparation. The five young witches and wizards were who were left behind took one glance at each other before the made a mad dash for the door. The gargoyle at the bottom of the stairs opened for them and the four Weasleys and Hermione practically sprinted through the corridors. Belatedly, Hermione was thankful that they were mostly empty with the majority of the students having already left on the train. They raced through Nearly Headless Nick, who harrumphed and muttered about “wild, inconsiderate children”, but none of them cared enough to stop and apologize. Only once they burst from the Entrance Hall and out onto the school grounds did they catch a glimpse at the intruder. Or rather, intruders.

Hermione could make out the vibrant green robe Professor Dumbledore had been wearing, as well as the two thin, dark figures of Snape and McGonagall flanking him. She couldn’t quite make out whom they were speaking to, only that there were three, and one of them was dressed in a pale green robe with two others flanking him in brown greatcoats. The six of them seemed to be talking and Snape and McGonagall had lowered their wands. Hermione at least took that as a sign that whoever had come wasn’t an immediate threat to the school. It wasn’t until they came closer that she was able to see their faces and her heart leapt to her throat.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, darting past the three professors to tackle her best friend. Only she never reached him. The woman at his side in the brown coat stepped forward to intercept her and Hermione found herself on the ground, not really having known how she got there but having difficulty breathing.

“Alassë!” Harry cried, immediately kneeling to check that his friend was not seriously injured. Hermione watched with fascination as he breezed his hand over her throat and suddenly she could breathe without coughing. She recognized magic when she saw it, but hadn’t expected such a display of wandless magic, especially not from her long-lost friend. Then again, with everything Sirius had shared with her about the Eldar, maybe she should have.

Harry reached out and helped her to he feet. Hermione noted that he was at least a head and a half taller than her as he wrapped her in a fierce hug. His pale green robes were trimmed in gold-threaded designs and his hair was longer, almost as shaggy as Sirius’, but for the most part, he looked like a slightly older version of the Harry she’d known for years. Only his robes and the large sword with a red ruby embedded in the pommel that hung on his hip, suggested anything was different about him.

“I’m sorry about Alassë,” Harry said when the two of them pulled away at last. “She’s one of my…guardians. She won’t do that again.” Harry sent a side-long glance to the female eldar who inclined her head, seemingly reluctantly, and murmured something in another language. To Hermione’s continued shock, Harry replied back fluently in the same language. The two of them seemed to share some sort of joke.

Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George approached at a more cautious pace. Ron, of course, knew about Harry, but the others hadn’t been told.

“Harry?” Ginny said tentatively, slipping away from her brothers.

Harry smiled widely. “Hi Ginny. It’s good to see you again.”

Ginny looked over Harry’s robes and then her eyes travelled to the two guardians with him, taking in every detail.

“I think you have some explaining to do.”

Harry chuckled. “I think you’re right. I will too, at the right time. I promise.” Harry caught sight of Ron behind Ginny.

“Hi Ron.”

Ron seemed hesitant to approach, like Ginny and the twins, but he at least responded with a nod and a muttered “Hey mate.”

“I think perhaps we should take this reunion inside, Headmaster,” Snape said at last, looking around pointedly. They were out in the open, and nobody was supposed to know about Harry.

“Yes, I think that would be best,” Harry agreed, much to the wizards and witches’ surprise. When did Harry agree with Snape about anything?

The group trekked back up to Dumbledore’s office, carefully avoiding the second floor where Umbridge was known to lurk in her office. The horrid professor wasn’t roaming the castle at the moment with most of the students gone, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t come out at the most inconvenient time. Thanks to Dumbledore’s uncanny ability to avoid everyone in the castle, they made it back to the Headmaster’s office unseen and it wasn’t until they were up the stairs and the door was closed behind them that Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

“What are you doing back?” she asked. “And why do you look like you did before? What’s going on?”

“Perhaps we should give Mr. Potter a moment to speak, before bombarding him with inane questions,” Snape said caustically. He was eyeing the two eldar with him, who were glaring right back. The male Hermione remembered from the day Harry had left with Sailano, but the female she’d never seen before and she was scrutinizing Snape in a way that had the Potions Professor on edge.

“Actually, I need your help, Professor Dumbledore,” Harry admitted.

“About what, my boy?”

“I saw a vision a while ago, of a wizard being attacked by a snake. And since then I’ve had visions, nearly every night. I think they may be from the False Lord.”

“The False Lord?” Ron said, confused.

“Harry means You-Know-Who,” Hermione explained. “That’s the name the Eldar use for him, right?”

Harry smiled fondly at Hermione and nodded.

“Blimey! But then, that means you—you saw my dad!”

“Your dad? I don’t—“

But Harry seemed to understand quickly. “He was the wizard that was attacked! Where is he? Is he okay? Please tell me he’s not—“

“He’s in St. Mungo’s,” Ginny said. “They are keeping him in a coma, to try to hold off the venom.”

Harry exchanged glances with the two eldar and Alassë, the female, shook her head, but Harry seemed to ignore her. “I have to go see him. Now.”

“You can’t do anything for him that the healers at St. Mungo’s aren’t already doing,” McGonagall told him. “And I think we need to address this very serious matter. These visions cannot be allowed to go on.”

But Harry was already moving towards the fireplace, his two guards following closely behind him.

“Harry, wait!” Hermione instinctively reached out to grab his arm, but she stopped at the last moment, remembering their reunion. “You can’t go like this, with them,” she told him, gesturing to his two guards. “You’ll draw attention. Even if you still…look like you…you’ve been away for almost a year. It’s been all over the Daily Prophet. If you charge into St. Mungo’s, it’s going to be all over the front page tomorrow.”

“Tárnya, please.” It was the first time any of them had heard the male guard speak and his voice rumbled, quiet but strong like distant thunder. His words were strangely accented, but clear enough. Harry paused as he was reaching for the Floo powder on the mantle. He turned back towards his guard and muttered something in that strange tongue. The female joined in and soon the three of them were in the midst of some sort of fierce argument. Hermione didn’t have a hope of following it, and all the others in the room seemed just as lost, with the exception of Snape. Finally, Harry growled in frustration.

“Fine,” he hissed, turning away from the fireplace. “Where is my school trunk?”

“It’s with your godfather,” Dumbledore replied.

“Then we need to go there. I need something out of it. I don’t mean to be rude, but time is of the essence, especially if he’s been unconscious since the attack. We can discuss my visions after.”

“I see,” was all Dumbledore said before he moved around behind his desk and pulled out a plain quill. He tapped it once with his wand before holding it out to the group. “Everyone take a hold.”

Hermione and the others hurried to touch the quill, though Harry had to encourage his guardians, who seemed uncertain and suspicious of the object. Once everyone had at least a finger on the quill except for Snape and McGonagall, Dumbledore tapped the quill with his wand again and Hermione felt the telltale jerk behind her navel of a portkey.


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24:

The journey from Métimalondë had been one of great secrecy. Harry had made the decision that they would leave that evening only the day before, much to Alassë and Roimon’s displeasure. The three of them prepared what they could without being noticed and then the next afternoon, instead of going to training, Harry dressed in the plainest green robe in his wardrobe and prepared to meet his two guardians on the wharf. He was tucking his old wand into his robe pocket when his eyes fell on his grandfather’s sword. Really, he didn’t have any expectations of needing it, determined that this journey would be purely to find answers for his visions from Dumbledore and then he would return right away. But a soft voice inside that reminded him of his father, told him to take it. And so he strapped the sword to his hip and slipped away, careful to avoid Narwien as she read in the sitting room, and taking a back alley so that even little Veryë didn’t see him.

Roimon met him behind Sailano’s house and led the way to where Alassë was waiting with a boat she’d procured. It wasn’t much and Harry had the distinct suspicion that she’d borrowed it off Halatirno, or maybe one of the other fishermen as it smelled strongly of fish guts and any number of other questionable things. Still, it would be sufficient to get them through the wards and onto the Black Lake. This magic, Harry wasn’t as sure of, but Roimon assured him that once they were past the wards, merely thinking of their destination would be enough to pass them through to the Wizarding World.

Harry raised the hood of his robe as they slipped into the boat and cast off. Alassë rowed as Roimon kept a look out and Harry focused on the upcoming wards. He’d gone over the instructions again the night before, but no matter how familiar he was with the concept, the true test would be when they arrived at the wall and the wards. He sat in the bow of the boat, waiting and fearing that he might somehow miss it. The wards themselves stood like a great dome, watching over the last haven of the Eldar, the spirit of the past Tar-Eldaturs powering it. Harry hadn’t been expecting it to feel so…familiar.

“We’re here,” Alassë murmured, as she pulled up alongside a seemingly impenetrable section of the stone wall that guarded the harbor. Further down was the main portcullis, but they were sure to be stopped passing through there. He’d searched for weeks to find another way out of the city and had finally found it in an old lore-book. Closing his eyes as he cast his magic out and felt over the wall. He was looking for “the keyhole”, as Cethindo had called it. It was a small section that, if given the right key, would open somehow. It was a backdoor, of sorts.

Harry was sure he’d miss it, not really certain what he was looking for. But as soon as he felt it, he knew it was right. The keyhole glowed softly in his mind’s eye, a place in the wall that pulsed softly and emitted just a faint light, as if there was a candle behind it, shining through the crack. Just as the lore-book bid, Harry delved into his own magic to bring out just a glimpse of his core, the core of the Tar-Eldatur. The keyhole recognized him immediately and Harry felt the wards lift, just as the wall before him shimmered. He could just make out the other side, as if the bricks had become wisps of cloud.

“Go straight.”

Alassë gave him an incredulous look, but followed direction, rowing them towards the wall. Just when they seemed to be about to hit it, the bow of the boat passed through the stone and they were cast into darkness for only a moment until they burst through the other side. As soon as they were past, Harry felt the keyhole slam shut and he looked back, wondering if he could see a difference. Only he couldn’t see anything at all. Where Métimalondë would have been was only an impregnable cloud of fog. Not even a sound broke the barrier. The Last Haven was gone.

He turned back around to find Roimon and Alassë both looking at him expectantly.

“What now?” he asked Roimon.

Roimon chuckled and shook his head. “And here I thought you knew _every_ secret! I’ve walked that wall many times and never found that door.”

Harry smirked and laughed. “Just lucky I guess,” he replied. “We need to go to Hogwarts, where you and Sailano found me. What do we do now?”

Roimon pointed on ahead where the fog only seemed to thicken. “We row straight, and focus on where you wish to go.”

Harry nodded. “The Black Lake,” he declared, thinking of the dark waters and the giant squid that made its residence in them. He thought of the rocky shores where he, Ron, and Hermione would go to study on fair days, framed by the tall, thick trees of the Forbidden Forest. He thought of Hogwarts itself, perched up on the hill and looking down over it all, a thousand lights reflecting on the calm waters.

Suddenly the fog lifted and there it was, just as Harry remembered seeing it his very first year.

“ _Home_ ,” he breathed, as he felt the weight of Hogwarts’ familiar wards settle over him. The castle rose up before them, distant lights sparkling in the windows. Alassë rowed towards the shore, her paddles the only sound. It had been some time since Roimon and Sailano had come to bring him back to the Eldar but surely there should be at least a few students out on the grounds, maybe a Care of Magical Creatures class. As their boat bumped up onto the shore, they were alone. Not even the Giant Squid could be seen in the depths of the water. Harry ducked his head and concentrated on the familiar face he’d worn for most of his life, but frowned when it was a bit more difficult to bring up from memory.

“Everything alright, Tárnya?” Alassë asked.

At last Harry fixed the glamour and Roimon’s nod was enough to let him know he’d succeeded.

“No.”

Roimon was first out of the boat but Harry and Alassë soon followed.

“Where is everyone?” Harry murmured.

The next moment there was a crack and Harry’s question was answered. Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape appeared before them, wands at the ready. Harry’s hand tightened on the pommel of his grandfather’s sword as Roimon stepped in front of him.

“It’s alright, Roimon,” Hary told him as his former professors lowered their wands.

“Harry. We were not expecting you,” Dumbledore said, smiling.

“I’m sorry for barging in, Headmaster,” Harry apologized. “I need to speak with you—“

“Harry!”

He caught sight of Hermione a moment before Alassë stepped in front of him and before he knew it, Hermione was on the ground and Alassë had a very self-satisfied smirk as she relaxed from her fighting stance, confident that the “threat” was neutralized.

“Alassë!” He pushed past her to check on Hermione, who was wheezing on her back on the ground. Harry’s stomach turned at the thought that one of his oldest friends was injured by one of his _arantir_. He summoned the healing magic that came much easier now, starting at her throat where a bruise was already forming and let the magic wash down her airway, just making sure where was no other damage. The bruising faded, but Hermione’s shocked and intrigued expression didn’t. As Harry helped her to her feet again, he was sure he’d be explaining. A lot.

But first he hugged her for the first time since the Triwizard Tournament.

“I’m sorry about Alassë,” he told her. “She’s one of my…” Hermione and the others wouldn’t understand just what it meant to be Arantir. “Guardians,” he said at last. “She won’t do that again.”

And she wouldn’t. Harry gave her a pointed look to emphasize his words.

“I thought she meant to attack you, Tárnya,” Alassë murmured in Eldarin.

“No, you didn’t,” Harry shot back in kind. “Stay your hand unless there is true danger.”

“You would not know true danger until it hit you across the face,” she retorted, a light smile.

“Like you did yesterday?” Harry smirked.

“Harry?”

Ginny, Ron, and the Weasley twins looked at him like he was some sort of alien, but Ginny took a few tentative steps forward, her eyes searching for something that Harry wasn’t sure she was going to find.

Still, it had been a long time and Harry couldn’t help the soft flutter he felt in his stomach. “Hi Ginny. It’s good to see you again.”

Ginny looked pointedly over his robes and the sword at his hip before ending on Alassë and Roimon flanking him. Harry suddenly felt self-conscious, like he was standing in front of the whole school in the Great Hall waiting to be Sorted again.

“I think you have some explaining to do,” she said, smiling at last.

“I think you’re right,” Harry agreed, relieved that she seemed to accept the Harry she saw before her. So much had happened, he owed everyone an explanation, but it might have to wait. “I will too, at the right time. I promise.”

Ron stood behind Ginny, but unlike her and Hermione, he didn’t seem inclined to come any closer, and that cast a shadow over their reunion.

“Hi Ron,” he said, hoping that maybe Ron would realize that he was still his friend.

Ron nodded. “Hey mate,” he replied.

“I think perhaps we should take this reunion inside, Headmaster.” Harry didn’t like Snape any more now than when he’d left, but as he looked around at the rolling grounds with very little cover, he had to admit the Potions Professor was right. It was better the fewer who knew he was there, the better.

“Yes, I think that would be best,” he agreed.

As Harry walked across the familiar grounds, he’d expected everything to feel just as it had before. Which, looking back, was ridiculous. The last year had brought the biggest changes since Hagrid had come to deliver his Hogwarts letter. Now, the halls of Hogwarts seemed like a distant memory, not at all the home that they’d felt before. Harry walked through them beside Alassë and Roimon and he felt like he was seeing a façade, only an image of what he remembered.

When they made it to Dumbledore’s office, it was not long before the questions began again, and Harry smiled that it was Hermione who was the first.

“What are you doing back? And why do you look like you did before? What’s going on?”

Surprisingly, it was Professor Snape who cut her off. “Perhaps we should give Mr. Potter a moment to speak, before bombarding him with inane questions.”

“Actually, I need your help, Professor Dumbledore.”

“About what, my boy?” Dumbledore asked, tilting his head in concern.

Harry inhaled and let it out carefully. He hadn’t told anyone the specifics of the visions he’d been having, only that they occurred.

“I saw a vision a while ago, of a wizard being attacked by a snake. And since then I’ve had visions nearly every night. I think they may be from the False Lord.”

Ron spoke up for the first time. “The False Lord?”

Harry was about to explain, but Hermione, as usual, beat him to it. It was just like old times and Harry couldn’t help but think of all the times she’d come to his rescue when he was new to the Wizarding World and didn’t understand.

“Blimey! But then, that means you saw my dad!”

Harry frowned. “You dad? I don’t—“ An image flashed across his mind, the wizard slumped on the floor, bleeding and dying. He couldn’t see his face. “He was the wizard that was attacked! Where is he? Is he okay? Please tell me he’s not—“

He couldn’t even bring himself to say it. Mr. Weasley had been like the father he’d never had.

“He’s in St. Mungo’s,” Ginny explained quickly. “They are keeping him in a coma, to try to hold off the venom.”

He had to go to St. Mungo’s. If the snake’s venom was still in Mr. Weasley’s body then he didn’t have much longer. And Harry knew he could heal him, like he’d healed Alassë and like he’d healed Hrávon. He was sure his _arantir_ would understand the need to break from their original plans, but has he looked to first Roimon and then Alassë, he could see their hesitancy and wariness. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know Mr. Weasley like he did.

“I have to go see him. Now,” Harry declared, already heading for Dumbledore’s fireplace where a pot of Floo powder sat on the mantle.

“You can’t do anything for him the healers at St. Mungo’s aren’t already doing,” Professor McGonagall said. “And I think we need to address this very serious matter. These visions cannot be allowed to go on.”

Harry was reaching for the Floo powder when Hermione stopped him. “Harry, wait! You can’t go like this, with them,” she told him, gesturing to his two _arantir_. “You’ll draw attention even if you still look like you, you’ve been away for almost a year. It’s been all over the Daily Prophet. If you charge into St. Mungo’s, it’s going to be all over the front page tomorrow.”

“Táryna, please,” Roimon implored.

Harry’s frustration grew the longer they stood around as Mr. Weasley lay in a coma. He turned on his two _arantir_ and snapped in Eldarin.

“I know he’s just a wizard to you, but I have to go help him, now.”

“We have a specific task in coming here,” Alassë insisted. “ As your _arantir_ I cannot allow you to deviate.”

“ _Deviate_? This isn’t some random wizard. This man has been like a father to me. He’s taken me in when my own family didn’t want me. I am Tar-Eldatur—“

“And you have a duty to the _Eldar_.”

“I have a duty to my _family._ I am going to help him because I can.”

“Then you cannot be seen. If the wizard newspaper reports your return, the False Lord will know and you will be in danger.”

Harry growled, frustrated, but they had a point. He couldn’t be seen. Regardless of whether Rita Skeeter or the Daily Prophet reported on his return, nobody could know of the healing skills he’d acquired, or any of the other magic he could now perform. It would raise far too many questions. Luckily, he had a way to go unseen.

“Fine. Where is my school trunk?”

“It’s with your godfather,” Dumbledore said.

At Grimmauld Place. “Then we need to go there.  I need something out of it. I don’t mean to be rude, but time is of the essence, especially if he’s been unconscious since the attack. We can discuss my visions after.”

Ron, Ginny, McGonagall, and the twins looked confused while Hermione and Snape seemed to be the only ones to truly understand what Harry meant to do.

“I see,” Dumbledore replied at last. He removed a quill from his desk and tapped it with his wand. Harry felt the magic gather and bend, anchoring itself to the quill. “Everyone take a hold,” Dumbledore directed.

Harry stepped up to place a finger on the Portkey, but Alassë and Roimon hesitated. Understandable, from what he’d learned of Eldar magic, Harry didn’t think they had anything like a portkey.

“It’s okay,” Harry assured them. “It’s going to transport us to my godfather’s house. You just need to have a finger on the quill.”

“Is there not some other way of travelling there?” Roimon asked, eyeing the unfamiliar magic.

“No,” Harry replied simply.

Alassë huffed but at last she and Roimon were touching the portkey, squeeze between Harry and Hermione. With another tap of Dumbledore’s wand, Harry felt the familiar jerk behind his navel as his feet left the ground and they spun through time and space to his godfather’s home. They landed in a heap in the small foyer of the house. Alassë and Roimon were on their feet almost immediately, reaching for Harry but he was already pulling himself up. He took Hermione’s hand to help her to her feet when the door at the end of the hall opened and Harry’s godfather stepped out with Lupin close behind.

Harry grinned as Sirius looked him over from head to toe and whistled.

“Fancy robes, Potter.” He smiled, stepping around Ron who was still sprawled on the floor, tangled with George, and embraced the godson he hadn’t seen in a year. “It’s good to have you back, Harry.”

“Sirius, it’s great to see you,” Harry replied. “But I’m not able to stay. I need my dad’s cloak.”

Sirius frowned and seemed to notice the two eldar standing behind his godson. “What for?”

“I can save Mr. Weasley,” he said.


End file.
